The Wedding Date?
by tanzfieber
Summary: “This is a wedding invitation.” Her hazel eyes scanned the page again, and then the front of the envelope. “Hmm, maybe it was misaddressed—who would invite YOU to a wedding?” Will he go? What about the 'and guest' part? Oh, and there's a bet to win. HC
1. It Arrives

**Summary: **"This is a wedding invitation." Her hazel eyes scanned the writing again, and then the front of the envelope. "Hmm, maybe it was misaddressed—who would invite _you _to a wedding?" House is busy with life as House, when an invitation arrives. Will he go? What about the _'and guest'_ part? Things get a bit complicated when he finds out that there's a bet involved... Gregory House is competitive by nature, but will it get him into trouble this time?

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** The usual. I'm borrowing, kids, don't panic!

**Author's Note: **This is a fiction that I accidently dreamed up the other day, instead of paying attention in bio-chem. Oops. Hopefully you will appreciate the effort spent on dreaming this up more than my professor did, eh? For once, I actually have a plot-structure all worked out for this story... Should be intersting, I hope. Reviews are always greatly appreciated, and constructive criticism is completely welcome. Cheers!

* * *

"Good morning, little rays of sunshine!" Dr. Gregory House announced in an offensively cheery tone as he limped into the department of diagnostics. His apparent enthusiasm went unmatched, however, as his underlings sank, if possible, a bit lower in their chairs. He stared around expectantly for a moment, cocking his head patronizingly. "Hey, I think that's your cue for a rousing 'Good morning, Dr. House!'" 

"Good morning, Dr. House," parroted Allison Cameron obediently, if predictably. She was standing by the coffee maker, rinsing out a red mug. _His_ red mug. House allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction at the sight. _Oh good, she was making him coffee_.

"Well, that's one proper greeting," he conceded, now standing by the white board and inspecting his other two team members with a smirk. Almost as predictable as Cameron's sunny compliance, were Drs. Chase and Foreman's reluctance to play the game. _But oh, he would get them to play—he always did. _Now shielding his eyes in a mocking display of a search, House allowed his blue eyes to alight on the latter of the two. "How about you? Yes, you with the deep tan."

Eric Foreman rolled his eyes and brought one hand up to scrub across annoyed features. "Leave it alone, House."

The older doctor sucked in a breath and cocked an amused eyebrow, his mouth curled down in a comical excuse for a frown. "Uh-oh, _someone's _cranky today," He needled, accepting his coffee from Cameron with a nod, before turning his gaze to his neurologist again with a mischievous glint. "But the question is _why_? Hmm… What do we think, guys? Differential on Dr. Foreman's _grumpy-pants _personality—Go!"

And while on the topic of predictability, it was probably the most predictable of all that neither Cameron nor Chase immediately jumped on the band-wagon of teasing Foreman. House sighed dramatically. _He could teach them most things, break them of most habits, but he hadn't yet coaxed them into the blatant taunting of each other. Ah well, he'd get around to that eventually_.

"No ideas? C'mon kids, what am I paying you for?" For the time being, he settled for an over exaggerated shrug and uncapped the black marker. "Okay, I'll start us off then—symptoms: meanie-face, tense posture, grinding of the molars…"

Whilst House stood at the board scrawling the _symptoms_ in his messy handwriting, the three younger doctors regarded each other with questioning glances. _The Mad Scientist was being more happily abusive than usual, especially for such an early hour—something _had _to be up_.

"…White-knuckled grip on the coffee mug, and otherwise completely _clenched_." Apparently, the head diagnostician had finished his list, and now returned that expectant gaze to his fellows. "So, causes?" Still nothing. "No comments from the peanut gallery? Am I really going to have to do this all myself?" Adverse to his words, his tone bespoke the fact that he would be more than happy to. "Ookay then. We'll start with _'lost a homie to gang wars'_—"

"What is _up_—? What, you get laid last night or something?" Foreman sat forward in his seat with hands akimbo, staring at his boss with a frown. House merely shook his finger knowingly at the younger man and tsked.

"Ooh no, we're not talking about _me_, Dr. Foreman—although as long as we're on the topic, clearly _you _didn't get any either last night," he thought for a moment and stroked his stubbled chin dramatically. "Unless, you _did_ and it was really ass-backwards awful… Hey, that could be a cause! Good for you for contributing!"

Within moments, the words _"no/bad sex" _were shining on the whiteboard as well. Foreman made a strangled sort of noise in his throat and the other two shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. _This had the potential to turn ugly_. Apparently oblivious, House continued his _differential_ unfazed.

"How about tainted drugs? Plausible, right?"

"Okay, you know what? You _win_— GOOD MORNING, DR. HOUSE!"

Gregory House stopped what he was writing, turned slowly, and smiled a dazzling, toothy smile._ Hah: Victory_. He peered around the room and his face lit up as he apparently _just_ noticed his neurologist. "Well good morning, Dr. Foreman! How was your evening?"

At this point, Foreman dropped his face into one hand and waved the other defeatedly. "Fine. Yours?"

"Oh just dandy." Blue eyes strayed next to a certain blond intensivist, whose own eyes widened in alarm. Before the older doctor could sink his proverbial teeth in, he spoke up.

"Good Morning, Dr. House!"

While smug at his latest victory, House still managed a puppy-dog pout at the fact that Robert Chase hadn't put up any sort of fight—thereby nixing the need for teasing. "Aww, you're no fun, Wombat," He paused and took a sip of his coffee. "Okay, so does anyone have a new case for Daddy today?"

Relieved that the ritualistic mockery seemed to be over, Cameron was the one to speak up with a shake of her auburn curls. "No, nothing—Jason is being discharged as we speak."

"Who is Jason?"

The pretty female doctor sighed at the sight of her boss's deadpan. "I think you called him: 'Snot-Rocket-Boy.'"

"Oh yeah, him. Well, if he's going home, then that makes Booger-Face old hat—I want something brand spankin' new!"

"Well we don't have anything." Cameron's voice was clipped, and she had crossed her arms in annoyance. _It never ceased to bother her how flippant House was with the lives of his patients_. "I'm sure you could go down to the clinic and snap something up, if you're that desperate for a puzzle."

"Oh don't get your panties in a twist, Cameron—Although your concern about my boredom is nice, if misplaced—" House smiled indulgently and pulled a Rubik's Cube from his jacket pocket. "So I'm all set! All that leaves is stuff to keep the kiddies busy…" he thought for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Got it: Cameron, you can sort my mail," She rolled her eyes and pulled her arms tighter across her chest. "Chase, you toddle on down to the Clinic where you will play the role of a very courteous _Dr. House_," The Australian also pulled a face, but said nothing as his boss tossed him a nametag. "And Foreman… Oh I don't know, go help someone with something. Do that brain thing you love."

Having finished doling out tasks, the head of diagnostics raised an eyebrow at his team. "Alright, everyone got the play? Okay…" he bent over and clapped his hands together. "BREAK!" he leaned back and held the cube in one hand, feinting passes like a quarterback. They stared at him blankly, wondering at his antics.

"Oh for Pete's sakes," he griped, letting his arm drop to his side as a long-suffering expression passed over his features. "Okay, so I know that _Cameron_ doesn't do the sports metaphor thing, but c'mon you guys! I yell '_break_' and you're supposed to go out for the long ball—i.e. you go and do what I told you." More blank stares. "See, 'cause I'm the QB and you're the—" He sighed. "Oh, forget it. Just get out of here and do what you do."

Drs. Cameron, Chase and Foreman exchanged more puzzled glances, but this time got up and one by one filed out to do their allotted tasks—except for Cameron, who followed House into his office. _A weird morning with Gregory House, M.D.—par for the course_.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

_Okay… Top row of red all lined up—DAMNIT! What is that BLUE one doing there?!_ House cursed silently to himself as he spun the Rubik's Cube between long musician's fingers, seemingly able to complete the entire red side, except for that one rebel blue square."Crap…" he mumbled to himself, but loud enough to attract the attention of the other person in the room.

Cameron glanced up from the letter she was currently opening and allowed her hazel eyes to settle on her boss, who was sitting across the room in that reclining chair of his. Seemingly unaware that she was observing him, the lanky diagnostician spun the cube again and squinted one eye at it, the tip of his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration. _God, he was adorable when he wasn't busy being an asshole…_ The female doctor repressed a sigh and shook her head in self-deprecation at her latest thought. _She couldn't be thinking those things anymore… It wasn't going to happen! For Heaven's sakes, girl, stop staring!_ She chided herself, and almost to distract herself, the young immunologist ripped into another letter with a bit too much fervor—the manila envelope caught her thumb at that painfully perfectangle and blood immediately beaded along a new paper-cut. "OUCH—!"

At the yelp, House tore his eyes from his puzzle and peered across the room to the source of the noise. "Something wrong, Dr. Cameron?"

"No, nothing. Sorry I disturbed you." _She _would_ apologize_.

He raised an eyebrow as she stuck the injured digit into her mouth and absently sucked it. A lock of auburn hair fell across her face, and House suddenly had the idea that she looked impossibly young and cute behind his desk. An unbidden chuckle found its way from his lips, and he shook his head. "Ooh, paper-cut, huh? Hate those."

Cameron nodded distractedly, pulling the thumb from her mouth to inspect it. Crimson welled up again immediately, and she sighed—she'd need a bandage to avoid getting her blood all over his mail. "Hey, do we have a first-aid kit in this office, or anything?"

He seemed to think about this for a moment, before snickering. "You know what? I don't think we do. Ironic that we're in a hospital and without a band-aid. Maybe I should mention that to Cuddy…"

"Oh, it's okay, I'll just go down to Pediatrics—"

"Don't bother, I think I've got something." She glanced up in surprise at that statement, and found him rummaging through his blue backpack. After a moment, House's blue eyes emerged victorious from inside his bag. "So, are you a SpongeBob, or a Snoopy kind of gal? I've got both."

"Beg pardon?"

"Band-aids." He annunciated slowly, giving her a look that clearly questioned her mental capacity. "I have SpongeBob ones and Snoopy ones. Which would you prefer?" The diagnostician held up both hands, a colorful box held in each, to emphasize his point.

At this, Allison Cameron straight out laughed. _She couldn't help it—he actually had band-aids in his backpack, and cartoon ones at that!_ "Why do you have kiddie bandages in your bag..?"

"In case my clumsy immunologist sustains life-threatening injuries whilst attending to my mail, that's why," House explained sarcastically before shaking the boxes at her once more. "Just pick one!"

"Oh er… SpongeBob, I guess?"

"Good choice, SpongeBob is the man." He nodded at her approvingly before cocking his arm back as if to throw the box. "How's your catching ability, Cameron? Am I risking you further bodily harm by assuming that you might be able to handle a projectile?"

"Just throw it, House—I grew up with brothers." She held out her hands, and he made an exaggerated under-handed lob in her direction. The wimpy throw fell a bit short, and the pretty young doctor had to all but dive across the desk in order to catch it. "Oof—!" Sitting back in the chair clutching her prize, she rolled her eyes at the man who had tossed it. "Jeez, you could have thrown it properly, I _said _I could catch!"

The older doctor only shook his head with a slightly aggravating sideways grin. "Couldn't risk it—Everybody lies."

"Yeah, yeah I know." Cameron conceded, setting about the task of peeling the wrapper from a band-aid and applying it to her right thumb. Moments later, she let out another soft snort at the sight of her paper-cut now encased in a neon-green, sponge-riddled strip of plastic. "Cuuuute."

"Oh yeah, the sponge is _totally _you," he agreed, and then held up his hands again. "Okay, so second part of the gym test—does she throw like a girl?"

Instead of answering, the she sat up straighter and hefted the box in one hand—

"HEY! WHA—!" House barely had time to throw up his hands in defense as the package of band-aids came rocketing across the room and burst into a flurry of individually wrapped bandages as it hit his palms. After a second, he peeked through his fingers to see a smug Cameron smirking at him. SpongeBob band-aids were all over his lap. "What the Hell—? Cameron, what was _that_?"

She looked at him innocently. "What?"

"_You_! You nearly just killed me with a box of SpongeBob Squarepants band-aids! How would that have looked in an obituary?!" House exclaimed, his blue eyes wide in shock.

"You wanted to know if I threw like a girl…" she shrugged and didn't do so well at concealing a grin.

House shook his head in wonderment, staring down at the mess before him. "Schyeah, that was out of _nowhere_—what happened to the _"I hate sports"_ Cameron? What have you done with her?" he demanded, seeing the woman in front of him in a slightly different light.

Cameron only shrugged again and wagged a finger at him. "Nuh-uh, I never said I hated sports, just sports _metaphors_." He didn't say anything immediately in response, so she calmly went back to what she had been doing before—sorting the mail.

Still sitting in his chair, House fixed his pretty immunologist with a calculating stare. _Well _that _had certainly been unexpected and out of the blue—what else could "innocent" Allison Cameron be hiding besides an ace pitching arm?_ He wondered briefly, before suddenly her voice broke his thoughts again.

"Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Jacobson request the pleasure of your attendance to the marriage of their daughter Sarah Catherine to Mr. Michael Leonard House at St. Mary's Church in—"

"Wait, huh?" He glanced up sharply as her words sank in slowly, to see her reading from what appeared to be very fancy stationary from a very fancy envelope.

Cameron looked up as well and met his gaze for a moment, motioning to the piece of paper in her hands. "This is a wedding invitation." Her hazel eyes scanned the writing again, and then the front of the envelope. "Hmm, maybe it was misaddressed—who would invite _you _to a wedding?"

"Oh ha-ha, Cameron—" House scoffed, getting up and brushing off the errant band-aids before limping over to where she sat. "Gimme that." He went to snatch the paper from her.

"Nope—not a mistake. Says here: Mr. Gregory House and Guest," she said, jerking them out of his reach for a second. "Although, if the addressee wasn't a typo, _this _line certainly was—_'and guest_ If this is your family, they can't possibly think you've got _friends_…"

If he was paying more attention, House would have realized at that point that Cameron was _definitely _acting differently than normal. _Since when was _she _the snarky one..?_ However, he was too intent on grabbing both pieces of paper from her and scrutinizing them himself.

Coincidentally, Allison Cameron was thinking the exact same thing. _Mocking House..? Was she out of her mind? He would take her apart for it, she knew…_ and braced herself for a verbal barrage. But, it didn't come, and she allowed herself a tentative glance at her boss to confirm that he was engrossed in the letter. Cameron let out an inaudible breath of relief and thanked a god she didn't really believe in that he hadn't noticed her cheek.

"_Mr. Michael Leonard House_," he read, and shook his head. "Mike's getting married? Bratty, spoiled Mikey? You've _got_ to be kidding me!" House mumbled, more to himself than to her.

Cameron contemplated him for a moment, his blue eyes skimming back and forth across the page and the spurts of laughter under his breath, before leaning in to read over his shoulder.

"Huh, that's _this _weekend," she pointed out, surprised. "Funny that they wouldn't give more notice, isn't it?"

House checked the front of the envelope absently and handed it to her, still staring at the invitation. "Got sent to the wrong place a few times, I guess." He was right, the postage had many stamps over top of it, and declarations of "Return to Sender" and "Address Does Not Exist."

"Oh. Well, are you going to go?"

She had thought it was a pretty obvious question, being that it was an invitation, but her words had a strange effect on House. He stiffened immediately, and she literally felt the comfortable atmosphere get _sucked _from the office. His long fingers crinkled the edges of the nice paper as the grip tightened.

"Go where? To my stupid cousin's stupid wedding? Are you kidding?" The tall doctor demanded, suddenly towering over his underling. Well, she _hadn't _been kidding, but apparently the correct answer was to shrug, so she did. This lack-of-response seemed to appease him, and after a moment, House shook his head and gave a careless shrug of his own—the stoic mask was back in place. "Nah, why the Hell would I go? Like you said, weddings and I don't really mix."

Cameron was dumbfounded as he tossed the small packet of papers back onto the desk and turned to leave the room. The wedding invitation fluttered innocently down to rest on the remaining mail, and the young doctor stared at it almost accusingly. _Now what was _that_ all about? All that over an invitation..? He had been in _such _a good mood, too… _ She wondered, but admitted grudgingly that she could only speculate at this point. Chances were, he wouldn't want to talk about it.


	2. She Calls

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** The usual. I'm borrowing, kids, don't panic!

**Author's Note: **Second installment up--thanks for the initial feedback, all of you! This chapter features Cuddy and Wilson, would someone tell me if I've managed to nail down their characters at least somewhat competently? I'm not as familiar with their workings, I don't think. Oh, just an FYI: Lindsay House is a rather superflous character that will probably make a few more cameos, but isn't ultimately that important, so don't worry. Thus far, she's an instrument for House's possible impending doom. Heh. Enjoy, cheerful readers!

* * *

"It's not a _complete _lie—" 

"House, he's not you! How is wearing a nametag that has _your _name on it _not _a lie?"

"Well, there's the _doctor_ part, right? Chase _is _a doctor… I think." House began, obviously groping for a better reason, and Lisa Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Oh c'mon, Cuddy, how'd you find out about this anyway? Is the Wombat snitching again?"

She snorted derisively and shook her head. "Oh no, he wasn't screwing you over, if that's what you think. In fact, if you need to know, a mother of two walked into my office about fifteen minutes ago and _complimented _me for a lovely hospital, and extremely wonderful doctors." Cuddy paused here and gave him a knowing glance, which he pointedly ignored. "Naturally, I asked her which doctor had attended to her children's needs, and she began spouting about the _charming, handsome and brilliant _Dr. House! As you can imagine, she got to _handsome_ and I realized that either you had Dr. Chase masquerading as you in the Clinic, or the poor woman had bigger worries than sniffling kids because she was probably suffering from _brain damage_."

House stuck out his tongue at his boss and narrowed his eyes at her. "Ooh, burned— one point, Cuddy!" he conceded, and held out his hand. "Gimme five, dude!" She only looked at him with a raised eyebrow and huffed in that spectacular Cuddy-huff sort of way. Two fingers found their way to her temple, and she closed her eyes in exasperation.

"Look, House, just do your own damn clinic hours—"

"But Mom, you wouldn't get any more rave reviews! I know how you're _addicted _to approval and all," he smiled, rocking back on his heels and tossing his cane from hand to hand. Cuddy opened her mouth to reply, but thankfully, just then an interruption to their pointless conversation arrived in the form of Dr. James Wilson.

"Not interrupting anything important, am I?" the oncologist asked carefully, taking in the way Cuddy was glaring at House with little surprise. "Okay, so what'd he do this time?"

House immediately assumed a look of injured innocence and appealed to his friend with a pout. "Aww, Wilson, why must you assume that I've wronged Cuddy?"

"Because you _always_ wrong Dr. Cuddy."

"Point taken." House smirked and reached between the two of them to dig in the receptionist's jar of lollipops. Finding a cherry-flavored sucker, he happily jammed it into his mouth and looked back up at his companions. They were mirror images of each other—one hand on the hip, the other rubbing the brow.

Wilson sighed a long-suffering sigh very similar to the kind Cuddy always indulged in, and sent her a sympathetic glance. "Any damage control I can help with?" He offered supportively, and House snorted.

"St. James to the rescue, eh? Going to retrieve sweet Cuddy from the evil clutches of a limping fiend?"

Steadfastly ignoring their candy-pilfering counterpart, Lisa Cuddy nodded gratefully at Wilson. "Just get him out of my hair. Take him anywhere—tie him up, gag him, whatever—just keep him occupied. I've got a group of donors to show around at one, and I think we've got a better chance of seeing that new radiology unit if said benefactors _don't_ accidentally run into the village idiot," she explained, jerking a thumb at House who only cocked a lecherous eyebrow at her.

"Tie me up and gag me? Oh, yes please, Jimmy! It'll be just like when the boss does it, except—wait, how do you look in fishnets and ass-less—" He was cut off as Wilson grabbed him by the arm and began leading him away.

"C'mon House, let's go get lunch."

The diagnostician brightened considerably after nearly falling over, and matched his hobbling gait to his friend's. Cuddy could still hear him jabbering as they receded down the sterile hallway. "Amen to that! I'm starving, how good of you to notice and care!"

"Actually, I figured that maybe with food stuffed in your mouth, you'd shut up."

"A lunch date _and _sweet talk from dreamy Boy Wonder? What lottery did _I _win?"

"Shut up, House."

Cuddy listened to this familiar banter, and couldn't help but chuckle softly. _Being the Dean of Medicine meant handling inconceivable curve-balls and changes in tempo, but _those two _and the way they interacted was a constant. Admittedly comforting, in some sort of weird way. _She shook her dark curls once more before straightening her pastel pink blazer and turning to sweep down the hall, heels a-clicking. _She had a hospital to run_.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"House, I _bought _you your _own_ lunch so you wouldn't steal mine!" Wilson stared on incredulously, as a handful of his french-fries disappeared into the loudly chewing mouth of his friend.

"It's not whether I have my own food, Jimmy, it's the fact that if _you _have food, I have to steal it. It's the principle of the thing," House managed to explain around the mouthful of Reuben and fries. He swallowed with some difficulty and reached across to take a sip of the other man's coke. "And if nothing else, I'm a man of principle."

"Principle. Uh-huh." Wilson repeated dully, watching another few fries and half of his drink meet the same slurping/munching end. "So," he started, leaning forward on one elbow and taking a small bite of his hamburger. "You certainly seem… more _delightful_ than usual today." It was an open-ended statement, one that obviously demanded explanation—a demand that a certain caustic diagnostician was an expert at ignoring.

House only nodded and poked his tongue out the side of his mouth to retrieve a stray smear of ketchup. After receiving no answer aside from noisy eating, the oncologist pulled a face of mild disgust. "Okay, first of all: close your mouth when you eat, seeing a ball of slobbery sandwich rolling around is making me nauseous. Secondly: care to explain the reason for your extra-sugary personality?"

The taller man paused in his chewing and stared pointedly at his friend, before opening his mouth wide to give his best friend a non-compromised close-up of the half-masticated food. _Hey Wilson, you like 'see-food'?! _Wilson glanced away, his mouth pulled down in a grimace. The self-satisfied smile of a petulant child appeared on the features of House, and only then did he bother to speak.

"Leg's in good shape today," he said with a wave of the hand. _Open and shut case, my dear Watson_.

"Oh. Is that all?" Wilson pressed, not really expecting to get anything else. His friend did not disappoint—a shake of the head ended that particular inquiry. "Alright, so nothing, say, _out of the ordinary_ happened to you this morning?"

The tone of voice caused the older doctor to pause for a moment. _Uh-oh… Wilson had that alarmingly smug 'knowing' expression on those baby-soft features of his—better figure out what _that's _all about_. He raised a curious eyebrow at his companion. "Hmm… Nope. I mean, Cuddy was a little extrarough today, but that's not exactly _out of the ordinary_."

Wilson neatly side-stepped this lewd comment about their boss, and went straight for the proverbial jugular. "So, you _didn't _get a wedding invitation this morning that requested the presence of Gregory House and guest?"

"Jeez, someone _really_ needs to learn to keep their overly-sensitive and sympathetic yap shut."

"Yeah, okay. You're indignant that Dr. Cameron broke the unspoken confidentiality agreement you expect her to keep, I got that part. More interestingly, what's up with this wedding thing? Who in their right mind would want _you _present for that kind of blessed event?"

House rolled his blue eyes skyward and let out an annoyed grunt. _That question sounded oddly familiar_. "Apparently _nobody _in their right mind. Cameron asked the same thing." He crammed another too-large bite of Reuben into his mouth and chewed sullenly.

"Always knew that girl had brains to back up those good looks!" Wilson grinned and leaned forward further, the rest of his own lunch now forgotten. "So what's the deal? You're not going, are you?" The somewhat venomous glare that was sent in his direction wasn't exactly subtle. "Okay, okay, so you're not going. Why not, then?"

The other man took his time with swallowing. "You mean beyond the fact that _family_ is most likely going to be in attendance?" House commented sarcastically, reaching over to thieve the rest of those unattended fries.

"Oh c'mon, House. It could be fun—"

"You are truly delusional if you actually believe that statement." Another swallow of coke. "Nuh-uh. You're not going to psycho-babble me into going to this stupid thing. Why the Hell do you care, anyway?"

"You mean beyond the fact that I'm _me_?" Wilson smirked, and House gave him a grudgingly appreciative smile in return. "Seriously though. It would probably mean a lot to the people who invited you, don't you think?"

"No, I _don't_ think. Like you and Care-Bear Cameron were so noble as to point out: no sane person would actually _want _me to attend their wedding. Think of the liability."

The oncologist thought about this for a moment, an image suddenly flashing through his mind that involved House actually raising his hand at the part where the priest asked if anyone had any reason as to why the couple should not be wed, spouting some misanthropic line that included "_everybody lies!"_ He shook his head and laughed. "Hmm, yeah," he agreed after a moment, and the taller diagnostician nodded sagely.

"Case in point. I'm not going."

Wilson, being Wilson, was just about to try a different tactic of persuasion on his acerbic friend, when suddenly a new voice entered their conversation.

"Excuse me, Dr. Wilson; Dr. House," Each turned to look and spied Allison Cameron standing at the end of their table.

"Oh, well if it isn't Snitchy McBigmouth herself!" House smiled patronizingly at his immunologist, who rolled her signature eye-roll and ignored her boss's usual sarcasm.

"Just wanted to let you know that you have a phone-call. Line two in your office." Cameron said, before nodding cordially at Wilson before leaving them to fall into the lunch line.

_Ah, the perfect reason to escape Jimmy Wilson's manipulations!_ House wasted no time in getting to his feet, sliding his tray of rubbish across to his friend. "You heard her, Jimbo—one of my adoring fans is on line two! Can't keep them on hold forever!" And he began limping away towards the exit.

Wilson stared down at the two trays for a moment, before calling out to the receding form of his friend. "House, you—"

"GIVE IT UP, WILSON—I'M NOT GOING!"

Jimmy Wilson, Boy Wonder Oncologist shook his head, brown eyes twinkling in slight amusement. Something told him he hadn't heard the end of _this _topic.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

Gregory House dropped into his chair with a sigh, dry-swallowing a few Vicodin for good measure. _Wilson was turning into a mother hen again._ He thought wryly, before glancing to his left and noticing the blinking light on his phone. _Oh yeah, phone-call._ He contemplated simply cutting the caller off and saving himself the prattle of some moron, but ultimately decided that whoever it was would probably call back later and he would get an earful from Cameron about common courtesy. _Might as well just answer it, declare their apparent idiocy, and be done_. So thinking, House reached over and picked up the receiver.

"House."

"_Greg? Greg—is that you?"_

Of all the responses he had been expecting, those words coming in an obviously female tone weren't on the list. He stopped fiddling with the tennis ball, his brow furrowed. "Um, yes. Who's this?"

"_Greg, it's Lindsay!"_ the voice all but shrieked, and realization dawned across House's features, even through the wince at the piercing screech.

"Eesh, okay—if this is who I _think _it is—I know it's been awhile, but really, I haven't gone _deaf _since we last spoke." The female voice laughed shortly and the diagnostician sat forward in his seat, an odd half-smile forming on his lips.

"_Sorry. It's just… well, like you said, it's been a long time, man!"_

"Yeah, yeah. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call, Linz?"

At the other end of the line, Lindsay House smirked at the sarcastic tone of her older cousin and leaned her own desk chair back. _"Because I need a reason to have called you, right?"_

"Exactly. People in our family tend to ignore the fact that I exist, so hearing the voice of one of them begs the question of what drove them to committing such an atrocity."

"_Shut up, Greg. You certainly haven't changed—"_

"That's the word on the street," House cut her off, a definite quirky grin now settling across on his face—_of all of the members of his family, Lindsay was the one he tolerated, and even liked, the best. _"But no, really… Why pick up the phone and call caustic cousin Gregory? Not enough bitter sarcasm in your life these days?"

Lindsay sighed and rolled her eyes, a gesture lost in the fact that he couldn't see her face. She decided, as she should have realized from the start, that there really wasn't any use in beating around the bush. _"Yeah, so you caught me. I didn't call to enquire about your health."_

"Really?" The sarcasm was tangible and she laughed.

"_Cut it out. I just wanted to know if you got the invitation to Mike's wedding."_

House had put his feet up and had begun a solo game of catch with his ball, but these words froze him. The red and gray toy fell to the floor unnoticed, and rolled underneath the desk. _Crap, he should have seen _that _coming. As if it wasn't bad enough having Wilson trying to talk him into going—he was going to have to shut his younger cousin down too!_

"_Greg… you there?"_

The voice on the phone interrupted his thoughts, and he responded absently. "Yep."

"_Oh. Okay, so did you get it?"_

"Yep." The invitation still lay on top of his computer keyboard, exactly where he had dropped it earlier. House glared at it in annoyance, as if that would help. "Can't believe Whiny Do-Nothing found a hapless victim at long last."

"_Hah, yeah, seriously. But actually, I called 'cause there's something you should know about this invite…"_

Well _that_ certainly got his attention. "Wait, what?"

"_Well, there's sort of…" _Lindsay paused, wondering exactly how she should break the news to her grouchy cousin that he was basically once again the center of family ridicule.

"Sort of what? Spit it out, Linz," House demanded, bracing himself for the answer. _One never could tell what sort of infuriating complications his _family _could present_.

"_A bet. There's a bet."_

"What—? What kind of bet?"

"_The kind where there's a pool on whether you'll show up or not, and if you do, whether you'll show up with somebody, and whether you're still the same miserable bastard you've always been at family reunions."_ She blurted out and scrunched her eyes shut, waiting for her words to sink in.

Gregory House didn't say anything for a moment, the gears in his mind whirring. _There was a bet riding on his attendance and state of being?! What kind of twisted idea was THAT?!_ In the back of his mind, the diagnostician made a mental note to tell Wilson about his newest legitimate reason for hating his family and their gatherings. More importantly, his ego had just received a swift kick to the balls.

"_...Greg?"_

He startled out of his somewhat enraged reverie. _Wha—? Oh yeah. Lindsay was still on the phone._ "You guys are sick. And people wonder why I'm a _miserable bastard_ when I'm subjected to your company." It was a statement, and the responded sigh indicated agreement.

"…_Yeah, I know. I swear though, I'm not in on it and it certainly wasn't my idea! Look… Greg, I just thought you should know, or something."_

"Right. Or something." The good mood he had been hanging onto all morning was a fleeting memory at this point. House popped another Vicodin. Another sigh into the phone.

"_Right… Well, hey... I um. Don't worry about it too much; this family is comprised mainly of sociopathic, self-concerned assholes."_

House told the little voice in the back of his head that reminded him that a handful of people had referred to _him _in that exact way, to shut the hell up. "Yeah," he mumbled dully. There was an awkward pause, and he got the idea that Lindsay was now regretting that she had bothered to call.

"_Yeah. So, uh… So maybe I'll see you around then, huh?"_

"Yep, you'll see me at the wedding." He blurted out.

"_Wait—huh?"_

_Yeah, HUH?! Oh Christ, what had he just said..?_ Judging by the squeaky pitch that the phone voice had suddenly taken on, it was difficult to tell who was more surprised by that outburst—she or House! His stomach did a nasty flip-flop as he realize he had seriously stuck his foot in his mouth this time. _Damn pride. Shit, too late to recall that now…_ The diagnostician cleared his throat, hoping that his voice wouldn't crack when he spoke again. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll see you at the wedding."

"_What? You're… You're coming?"_

"Well, that's what I said, isn't it?" He had closed his eyes tightly and had covered his face with one large hand.

"_Yes… but I—you—I mean…"_

"Listen: I'm coming, and not only _that_, but I'm _bringing somebody _with me. New girlfriend. Yeah, yeah she's really hot. And smart. And funny. And everything else that's great. And hey, know what else? I'm happy as a clam these days, so you can tell everyone to expect Mr. _Sunshine and Rainbows_ at the reception! GOTTA GO, PEOPLE DYING, BYE!"

Gregory House let his finger drop on the 'end call' button and released it. The sound of a distant dial-tone reached his ears. A by now limp hand replaced the phone, and then came up to cradle a scruffy face. _Had he actually just told his cousin that he was going to that wedding..? With a declared-gorgeous date..? And a sunny outlook on life..? _He swallowed hard, his stomach now tying itself into knots as the gravity of the situation hit him hard. _Granted, the revelation that his family was making frivolous bets on his misery stung, but did he _have _to say those things?!_

The good mood had definitely completely evaporated. He tossed back yet another chalky white pill. _Apparently, there was some truth to the popular rumor that he was unable to let his ego get bruised. _Now hunched over with his head in his hands, House snorted derisively and laughed a barking laugh that could have been a construed as a pained groan.

_Oh God—what he Hell had he just gotten himself into. Wow, House, you've really done it this time._


	3. He Advises

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** The usual. I'm borrowing, kids, don't panic!

**Author's Note: **And here's chapter three for you. Once again, as most authors typically do, I really appreciate the feedback that I've recieved! Any constructive criticism is always noted, and hey, votes of confidence never miss the mark either. Grin. Anyway, this piece involves a sizeable chunk of Wilson/Cuddy (strictly friendly) interaction for the fun of it--who wants to tell me how it turned out? I think I mentioned this, but I'm not quite as sure-footed with those two characters, so if I'm missing the mark, I'd love to know. And finally, to clarify, the breaks that I put in chapters don't neccesarily indicate a lapse in time-- more of a pause in continuation. Something akin to where they put commercial breaks if you're watching a show on TV. Heh, Sorry for the long A/N! Enjoy this installment, I'll get the next one up soon.

* * *

If anyone had walked through the door labeled "GREGORY HOUSE, M.D." at that precise moment, they would have been rightfully confused, and probably concerned—the bearer of said title was slumped in his chair with his elbows on his knees and his forehead was resting flat on the desk. A piece of paper with striking resemblance to a wedding invitation was tented over his head, and every once in a while, a soft groan emanated from somewhere beneath that expensive stationary. In short, the person who walked into that office right then would have probably assumed the owner had himself contracted some sort of inexplicable and deadly disease. As the head of diagnostics, Gregory House would have agreed with them. He had, somewhere in the past fifteen minutes, fallen prey to a ghastly case of _stuck-my-nike-in-my-mouth-itis._

House groaned for the umpteenth time and shifted a bit. He was getting a headache, but that was probably because the unforgiving edge of his desk was making a semi-permanent dent in his forehead. _Stupid stupid stupid stupid…_ It was becoming his mantra, and only the return of pain in his leg caused him to grudgingly admit that he couldn't sit there all day like that. Blue eyes fluttered open and focused dully on the uninteresting carpet.

_Did he actually just get himself into what he sincerely hoped he didn't..? _He wondered, knowing that the answer was yes, and that now his mind was in danger of sounding like a broken record. _Time to face fact: Yes, his cousin had called about the invitation. Yes, she had told him that his family was placing bets on his wretchedness. Yes, in a moment of ego-salvation, he had word-vomited his way into asserting that he was going to attend the wedding, he was going to bring an attractive woman who was allegedly his new girlfriend, and that he was now a regular old teddy bear as opposed to his typical misanthropic self. _

"Oh. Crap." This time the words actually found their way from his mouth, and House let out one last sigh before lifting his face from the desk. The cursed invitation, his harbinger of doom, slid off of his head as he did so, and he spared it only one look of contempt where it landed on his keyboard. _So— since we've come to terms with the idiocy— now what? _He wondered wearily, knowing that stewing in his self-made stew of _screwed _probably wouldn't be that effective in solving his problem.

_He needed help—now where could he possibly find some selfless sap who would not only serve as an outlet to unload his issues on, but would over-analyze the situation and produce some ridiculously shrink-esque solution..?_ For a cripple, House was on his feet and hobbling towards his balcony in record time.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"I was wondering, Dr. Wilson, if you would consider being my _bill-board_ physician for this bunch of donors." Cuddy crossed one leg over the other, her hands absently smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her skirt. For his part, Wilson looked up from the prescription he was scrawling, one eyebrow raised. 

"Excuse me?"

A few minutes earlier, the Dean of Medicine had knocked on his office door and asked if he had a spare moment to _chat. _Ever-reasonable, the oncologist had prudently decided that this woman signed his ample paychecks... and for that reason he could _afford_ a few minutes to indulge her. So thinking, he'd graciously offered her the seat across from himself usually reserved for two types of miserable persons—those who were suffering with the slow and painful death of cancer, and House who was suffering with… being House.

Anyway, Cuddy had sat down primly in the uncomfortable chair, and proceeded to talk about everything and nothing in a way that made his head spin. _What was it with women and dumping their issues into his lap—?Well, to be fair, there _was _a certain _male_ diagnostician who regularly participated in the same past-time…_ Wilson had shaken his head as his thoughts once again began wandering from whatever topic his boss was going on enthusiastically about. _Oh, this is stupid, won't she get to the point—?_ He had wondered dully, and it was then that he decided to ask just that. The answer, as it had come, caught him a bit off guard.

Cuddy chuckled shortly at the expression that had flitted across her friend's face—he looked down right befuddled. _Clearly she'd have to take a different route. _"Alright, so you remember how I asked you to baby-sit House this afternoon?" She started slowly, and he nodded.

"Uh-huh. Cost me money for _his _lunch, and then most of _my_ fries." Wilson mumbled, and If she didn't know any better, Lisa Cuddy would have thought her Head of Oncology was _pouting_.

"What?! Gregory House used you for your food? Now who could have predicted _that? _Call up Chicken Little and go alert the king— the sky _must_ be falling!" she gasped melodramatically and clutched at her heart. Wilson rolled his eyes and the woman seated across from him snickered knowingly. _Those boys and their antics…_

"_Anyway—_tattling on your buddy _aside—_" Cuddy began again, the smirk still lingering in her voice. "If you remember, the reason I asked you to get House out of the way was because I had to show a group of potential benefactors around the facilities." Gaining another nod, she continued in her best Dean of Medicine voice. "So, the reason I came down here is because I want you to be poster-boy for the hospital while this particular bunch is on the scene."

"Poster boy."' Wilson echoed vacantly, confusion still creasing his forehead. "You want me to be… Poster boy. As in… a poster boy?"

"Bingo. Don't know how, but I think you've managed to sum it up! " He was clearly still perplexed, and she smiled sweetly, waiting for the next obvious question.

"Well… what do you mean by _poster boy_..?"

Cuddy titled her head to the side knowingly. "And here I thought you were intuitive!"

The oncologist snorted derisively and gave her a rather pointed look. "Hey, _you _came here and asked _me _for a favor—Go easy on the sarcastic mockery." He half-sighed, but it turned into a chuckle. "C'mon Dr. Cuddy—What are you now, a House-wannabe? Pretty good imitation, but where's your_ cane_?"

"Touché, Dr. Wilson."

This time both colleagues laughed, and the atmosphere was a bit lighter for it. Finally though, Cuddy, in all of her administrator-ness, brought them back to the topic at hand. "So, what do you think? Want to do this hospital a favor?"

_What now..? Oh. Oh yeah, the _'poster boy' _thing. _Wilson leaned back in his chair a bit and fiddled with his tie—the green one, to be exact. "You still haven't told me what I'd be doing, exactly," he prompted and she steepled her fingers in contemplation before answering.

"Well, you'd be a kind of liaison for the current group of potential donors—you know, so that they could put a kind face on the otherwise chilly image of a sterile hospital. You wouldn't have to do much, I assure you; maybe give a few tours and take them out to lunch. Answer questions. Schmooze. Stuff like that." The Dean of Medicine waved her manicured hand around dismissively, as if it were nothing, and once again fixed him with that persuasively saccharine smile.

If the rapidity of her explanation and forced care-free tone hadn't tipped him off that she was leaving some part out of the equation, that smile certainly did. _Wilson happened to know that that _particular_ simpering expression was reserved for patients who wanted to sue her diagnostician… and the fact that she was now using it on _him_ set off warning bells._ Brown eyes narrowed slightly and she tried to maintain her nonchalant exterior.

"Okay… Lisa," he started, and she visibly ducked her head a bit at the use of her first name. _Crap._ _So much for not appearing guilty_.

Noticing the reaction, Wilson raised a brow knowingly. _Schyeah. I _thought _so!_ His brown eyes seemed to say with a tinge of smugness. "So what aren't you telling me about this? What's the ulterior reason for wanting _me _to be Mr. Princeton-Plainsboro over anyone else?

It could be said of Dr. Lisa Cuddy that she was a woman of many qualities—but _naïve _wasn't one of them. She knew the jig was up and she would have to come clean, but the next bit of explaining would have to be done carefully. "You're a great doctor, and a likeable guy—" she started, only to get that skeptical stare. "Okay, okay, so maybe I had a… a reason for asking you before I offered the job to anyone else…"

The other doctor waited for what she was about to say, expectancy written across typically smooth features. Drawing a breath, Cuddy went on.

"So. Erm. The things ­_is_…"

"Is what?" He pressed in a bored tone, and stopped again and shook her head, smiling oddly.

"Okay, you know what? Pretty simply put, the reason I asked you is because you're the kind of person _these _donors can relate to."

"They have… what, terminal cancer? Bum legs and Vicodin addictions?" Cuddy started snickering again at that comment, and Wilson conceded a few chuckles too before returning to his skepticism. _Ahh House—endless entertainment, even when he wasn't there. Or, more accurately, _especially_ when he wasn't there._

"Seriously though. What condition could these people have that you would assume they'd have a better time relating to _me_?"

"Ovaries."

"Wai—wha—_huh—?_" Well _that _way of putting things had certainly caught him off guard.

"They're _women_, Dr. Wilson." Cuddy confirmed with an amused smile. She waited while he grappled with that statement for a moment, taking the opportunity to examine her fingernails. As expected, it was only a few seconds before he spoke again.

"Oh. Ohhh. Wait, so you're asking me to take these people out to lunch because… I have an extensive track-record in terms of. Of… of _wooing females_?"

His boss seemed to consider that statement for a moment, before nodding with a shrug. "Yep. That about sums it up."

Wilson threw his hands up in defeat and rolled his eyes skyward. "Great. My grandest contribution to this hospital has _less_ to do with cancer break-throughs—and _more _to do with my… my… hair! Go on, it's my _hair_, isn't it? FINE, I BLOW-DRY IT DURING THE WINTER TO PREVENT CATCHING MY DEATH COLD! SO SUE ME!" he ranted haphazardly, and Cuddy stared at him in shock for a moment. The young oncologist sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. "Go ahead and say it: my golden locks are a bigger asset to this institution than my medical degree."

"Well… yes, the hair _is _lovely… But I tend to think it's more about those big, brown eyes. You've got quite the set of _bedroom eyes_, Dr. Wilson," She added in a helpful tone, carefully keeping her face straight, and he gaped at her in surprise. Ten seconds later, the still air of the oncology office was filled to bursting with raucous laughter.

James Wilson propped his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with unrelenting hilarity. Rather similarly, Lisa Cuddy had one hand covering her mouth and the other braced on the arm of her chair for support. Trying in vain to get her giggles under control, she fought to get out a coherent sentence.

"S-so… How ab-bout it, Dr. Strangelove?" she managed to gasp out, clutching rather pathetically at her aching diaphragm.

Still chortling himself, Wilson shook his head for the millionth time. "I-I'm probably going to re—to regret this…" he mumbled through laughing and wheezing. "B-but okay, you win-n. I'm a… a push-over. Just…" One more deep breath and composure returned a bit. "You can't tell House. I'd never live it down—"

"Can't tell House _what_ that you'd never live down?"

Cuddy literally jumped in surprise and Wilson glanced up sharply as a very distinct voice lent itself to the conversation—A certain grouchy doctor had seemingly materialized from nowhere in their midst.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"Okay, maybe you misunderstood. Let me rephrase that: can't tell House _what_ that you'd never live down?" House repeated after a pause, staring between his boss and his best friend suspiciously. Both looked ruffled, and the tell-tale signs of unrestrained laughter still on their faces. _What've you done now, Jimmy?_

Instead of answering, Cuddy gave the tall doctor a strange look. "Where the Hell did _you _come from?" It was a fair question—she couldn't fathom not having noticed if he had walked through the office door.

_Okay, so Cuddy wasn't going to play along and answer—Not a huge surprise there. No matter, he'd get it out of Wilson later._ The diagnostician returned the dry smile. "Nice to see you too, Dr. Cuddy. Now, as to your question: Once upon a time, there was a dashing military man named John House, and an innocent fair maiden named Blythe Sandbourne. One weekend, they decided that a nice weekend at John's family cabin would be a perfect escape, but neither counted on the effect that a few bottles of champagne and that alluring sheepskin rug in front of the fire place could have—" He started loudly, making wide gesticulations with his hands.

"UGH—STOP! ALRIGHT, I'M GOING!" and with a flurry of covering her ears and fairly running from the room, it was only seconds before Wilson and House were alone in the oncology office. The former turned to his friend with a raised eyebrow.

"Scaring your boss away with the potentially graphic story of your conception. That's a new one, House."

"Yep. Surprisingly effective too—might've been a new high-speed record for Cuddy-deterrent! I'll have to keep that one on call for when she remembers that I'm supposed to be in the Clinic right now." House smirked triumphantly, limping over and plopping himself down in the chair that their female colleague had so quickly vacated.

"Uh-huh." Wilson muttered, used to this sort of behavior after so many years of their somewhat dysfunctional friendship. "So. I actually _do _have things to get done today, so why not just cut to the chase and tell me what sort of favor you want," he said bluntly, running a hand through his hair.

_Well_ that _statement certainly brought him back to Earth—he had been going to ask for some patented Wilson advice on how to surgically remove his foot from his mouth._ House stalled, opened his mouth as if to speak, and then stalled again by grabbing the stapler off of his friend's desk and beginning to fiddle with it.

Taking in this fidgeting, James regarded his friend with a new wariness—something was _drastically_ wrong if Gregory House was at a loss for words. _Click. Click. Click,_ Went the stapler, and the young oncologist massaged his temples for a moment in preparation for whatever was going to come his way. Finally, he reached across his desk and plucked the office gadget from the diagnostician's nervous grip. " Okay, Let's have it," he sighed and closed his eyes one last time. _Brace for impact—_

"What have you done now, House." It was a solid statement rather than an innocent question, and they both knew it. The other man inspected the un-interesting cuff of his jacket, noting absently that Wilson always seemed to say his name a lot when he was agitated—it was _House _this, and _House _that. Maybe it was the general idea that if things were exasperating, that surname was most likely involved.

"I opened my big fat stupid mouth."

"No, _you_—?" Wilson gasped, and received a withering glare. He chuckled. "Sorry, you're going to have to be a little more specific. What happened, did you _volunteer_ for giving more student lectures by trying to convince Cuddy that you couldn't do the one this weekend?"

The next answer was a bit harder to discern, as it came from somewhere underneath limbs and sleeves; House had folded his arms on the desk and buried his face in them. "Mmph—No. At this point, that stupid kiddie talk isn't the _biggest _problem on my plate for _this_ weekend…" he trailed off, figuring that the analytical Wilson could probably take it from there.

"Uh, why—what do have for…" the other man started, before realization bit him right in the ass. _There were few things that really got to House, and even fewer that the guy would consider _worse _than having to talk to a pretentious group of med students. That meant it was something huge. Something that his friend would dread more than getting saddled with screaming, two-year-old, ear-infected triplets in the Clinic_.

"That wedding." He breathed, and the other man only burrowed deeper in his sleeves. "That invitation Cameron was talking about is for this weekend and you… You're going. Wait, you're _going_?!" Wilson's expressive brown eyes shot open as the notion fully congealed in his mind. "Oh for Chrissake—an hour ago you wouldn't have been within a hundred miles of that family reunion for anything in the world—and now you're _planning on attending—?! _What the _Hell _happened, House?!"

_Huh, there was his name again_. House shrugged before dragging his eyes up to meet those of his shell-shocked companion. _Not that he could _blame _Wilson for being blind-sided by the concept_. Deciding to just get it over with, he looked down and exhaled heavily. "I _might _have mentioned that I would show up… And um. And _maybe _I alluded to the fact that I was bringing hot date…" he mumbled, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck uncomfortably.

The oncologist gaped at his long-time friend in blatant disbelief. "You said _what_..? To _whom_? And for the love of God—_why_?!"

"In order of your harsh enquiries: First, I said I _might _have announced that I would attend, and that _perhaps_ I had a new girlfriend to show around. Second, the person who called earlier was Lindsay. Third: not a damn clue. Maybe I should get Foreman to schedule me for a CT scan."

"Lindsay as in… Your cousin?" a nod. "But—but _something _must have prompted you to jump off that cliff! What did Lindsay _say _to you, exactly—?" Wilson protested haltingly. _The Greg House HE__knew wasn't easily persuaded, and a concession such as this would have required one HELL of a list of perks…_

"They kicked me where it hurts." House figured that explanation was simple enough, but the look he was getting indicated that he should clarify. He sighed before scrunching up his face in aggravation. "Ego, buddy. Busted me right in the Goddamned ego."

"Who is _they_?"

"Everyone. Whole fucking family." Another grunt. "Listen, Jimmy, there's a bet going—a bet on whether _Gregory _shows up at the lovely party. A bet on whether he's still destined to die alone. A bet on whether he's still a misanthropic sonuvabitch."

Wilson leaned forward a bit as his friend fell silent. _What the Hell—? Was House being serious? If he was—what kind of sick family structure would allow that kind of thing? _"House…"

"I _had _to say _something_, Wilson. I had to salvage what little pride I have left where concerning my relatives. I know, it was a _stupid_ fucking thing to blurt out, but I couldn't help it at that particular moment…"

_Uh-oh. This was dangerous territory where the caustic diagnostician was concerned… _Aware that the other man was truly uncomfortable with the topic of family amongst anything else, Wilson nodded understandingly. "No, you're right. That's sadistic—I um. I probably would have done the same thing."

House sighed one more time as the office quieted again. _God, this certainly wasn't helping anything, and he didn't _really_ want to talk about acceptance issues—he had only come for advice_. So thinking, the gruff older doctor shook himself mentally and then offered his friend a quirky half-smile. "Well thanks for _that _vote of confidence in my idiocy, Jimbo," he managed, trying to move the conversation tone back into the sarcastic banter they were accustomed to.

Catching on, his friend only smirked and rolled his eyes. "Oh you know me. Always on call for the sake of your pride."

"You just admitted to being the _hooker_ to my _ego_."

"Shut up, House."

_Ahh, comfortable territory at last. _The two doctors shared an easy glance of mutual understanding before House slapped a hand to his forehead dramatically once again.

"Right. Shutting up. But Jimmyyyyy—" he whined piteously. "What am I gonna dooooo?!"

Wilson chuckled, tapped his chin, and seemed to contemplate the question for a moment. "Well, you could always just call back and make up some excuse about a last-minute seminar or something, right? How about a new patient that's going to kick the bucket if you don't fix them by Monday? You could _lie_. You know—that thing you're always doing to escape the wrath of Cuddy, or con other people into doing your dirty work?"

House rolled his eyes and shook his head stubbornly. "Can't. They'll know it's a lame excuse and then that'll just make those assholes think that they were right about me."

"House. They _are_ right about you. You _weren't_ planning on going, you _don't _have a girlfriend currently, and _certainly haven't _suddenly morphed into Mr. Roger—Ouch! Hey!" Wilson slapped a hand to his cheek indignantly as a bent paperclip was sent on a zinging path to his face. The man who had flicked the piece of metal snickered self-indulgently and stuck out his tongue.

"That's what you get for bringing up those trivial little technicalities."

"Right. The _truth _of the situation is just a '_trivial little technicality—_OUCH! Damnit, House, cut that out!"!

House merely held up another bit of ammunition and raised an eyebrow. "Stop saying things that will just provoke my defenses then, would you? Jeez, Wilson, don't you know how to deal with me _yet_?"

"You're such an immature bastard."

"Yeah, yeah I think you may have mentioned that a few times before." The diagnostician waved impatiently, ignoring the sharp glance from his friend. "Listen, what've you done with the _other_ Wilson?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I need the psych-ward Wilson who wants to diagnose my problems and dream up extravagant solutions to them! C'mon, I'm _telling _you that I need help on this one—I need some of that good ol' fashioned Boy Wonder advice!"

Wilson snorted and shook his head. "Uh. Let's recap: First it would have been an icy day in Hell before you'd _think_ of going—and now you won't consider _not _going. Hmm," he began sarcastically, pointedly ignoring House's hand motions that indicated he should hurry up with the _advice_ part. "Okay, so you're going, and apparently you've got to have a pretty shall we say, _trophy_, with you?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Um. How about a hooker? You could probably find one to play the part of a girlfriend for a weekend if you paid her enough—"

"Was _Pretty Woman _on TNT last night or something?" House cut him off rudely. "Listen, it's a cute story and all, but really, 80's-style Julia Roberts in that swimsuit-type get-up she had on in the beginning isn't exactly my cup of tea." Wilson sighed resignedly, muttering something about 'beggars can't be choosers.'

"Besides, this person needs to be at least of adequate intelligence—I can't show up with a brainless bimbo—that'd be worse than if I showed up with _you_ dressed in_ drag_!" The strangled snort that emitted from his friend brought a smirk to the diagnostician's face for a second. "So, should I take that as that a _'no, I don't want to be your date, Greggie darling'_?"

The oncologist shot his friend a somewhat dirty look and decided not to even bother indulging in _that _particular line of mockery. "You know what? I don't know _what _the Hellyou're going to do about this—but it serves you right for letting that gigantic ego of yours cloud your judgment."

"Oh, oh no, don't go all self-righteous on me now, Jimmy—I really need you to help me out, here—!" House protested, only to get cut off.

"I'm sure you do. One thing though: I really _don't_ have the answer for you this time. Good luck with all of it though—let me know what you come up with for your master plan!" Wilson smiled patronizingly before making a shooing motion. "Now run along and play, I actually have some work I have to get done."

He was expecting response to that, but it was at that moment, the pager on the diagnostician's belt went off. Both men stared at it for a moment, before House held it up to read the message. He snorted and shook his head.

"What's up?" Wilson asked, smoothing out the stacks of paper on his desk.

"Just Cameron letting me know that she's going to the lab. As if I care where she is when I'm not around. Jeez, that woman is needy—"

"You know, in light of recent pathetic events, I don't know if _you're_ exactly in the position to be calling anyone _else_ needy," the younger of the two pointed out. "_You're_ the one who needs to find a decent girl _charitable_ enough to accompany _you_ to a wedding that's happening in less than a week."

Stuck without anything to say in rebuttal, House had to settle for letting out an annoyed grunt and levering himself to his feet. _He'd figure this out by himself._ However, as he made for the door, Wilson's teasing tone floated after him.

"Hah, maybe you should just ask _Cameron_ to go with you—She needs validation from you, and you need a good reputation from her. You'd be mutually compatible in your neediness!" The statement was followed by that signature Jimmy Wilson chuckle, and House could think of no comeback other than to shut the door behind him harder than he needed to.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

_Schyeah, some helpful best friend _Wilson _is, _he thought darkly as he hefted himself over the divide between their balconies and wandered back towards his own office. _Pssh—even _suggesting_ asking Allison Cameron makes him a ridiculous idiot…_ The stoic M.D. set about reassuring himself, but for some reason the thought wouldn't complete itself right away.

He made his way back into the building and sat down in his own chair. The diagnostics conference room was empty, and House thought that he could hear his watch ticking as that one thought chased itself around in his head. _Hmm… Allison Cameron is a doctor, _said that annoying sensible voice in his head. _She's clearly intelligent, has an interesting job, is sickeningly endearing to everyone she meets, and then there's the obvious plus-side to the fact that she's gorgeous…_

Uh oh. House's fingers tightened a bit and his heart jumped into his throat at the realization of what that stupid voice was trying to talk him into. _Ask Cameron to a family wedding? NO WAY! _He argued back in his own mentally cynical tone of voice.

_Why not? _Asked the first persuasive voice._ You've got three days, Sherlock, and you don't know THAT many women—where are you even going to find another option? _

_But it's Cameron—!_

_All the more reason she's the obvious choice—she can STAND being around you, which is more than can be said for MOST women. _Wow, even the voice in his head was poking acerbic fun at him._ Hell, the woman wanted to DATE you at one point; and even if that's not the case any more, she's still way too nice and caring to say no._

House wanted to argue back against that insufferable reasoning, but fumbled with forming a viable case.

_Oh admit it, _taunted his own personal Jiminy Cricket. _Allison Cameron would be the ideal choice for this stupid thing you've gotten yourself into. And anyway, there are worse things you could think of to do than showing up with a stunning young doctor on your arm and shoving it in everyone's smug faces!  
_

After that there was no more mental debate—there simply wasn't anything else to factor in. Blue eyes fell upon that same invitation on the desk, the item that had started it all with its arrival, and the doctor snorted as he pushed it to the side. He would play his Nintendo DS for now while he waited for a certain immunologist to make her way back to the department.

_Oh Jesus, he was actually going to do it—_The screen flickered to life and the battery hummed quietly beneath his fingertips—_He, Gregory House, was going to ask Allison Cameron to be his date to a family wedding._ House popped another Vicodin and hoped she would be detained in the lab for awhile yet.


	4. They Stutter

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** Like always, I'm still borrowing. Keep refraining from panicking!

**Author's Note: **Alright, guys, before you start clamoring--yes, I realize that House is _uncharacteristically_ nervous and un-eloquent in this chapter... But then again, I figure that this is a rather _uncharacteristic_ thing, for him to have to ask one of his fellows to play 'hot girfriend' to his 'nice guy' at a family wedding. So, other than the bumbling speech that I promise will abate from here on out, how'd we go on this one, eh? All of you reviewers are lovely-- the rest of you non-reviewers are too, I'm sure, but then, how would I _really _know if you won't speak up? Wink nudge and all that. LOVE!

* * *

"Sonuva—!" Dr. Gregory House pulled a face and sat back in his chair, tossing the black Nintendo DS onto his desk. This was the _twelfth _time ninjas had descended upon his character and murdered him brutally with their tiny, pixilated nun-chucks and throwing stars before he could rescue the princess. He sighed and scrubbed his scruffy face with one hand, glancing to his computer's screen saver to verify the time. _Yep, it was 4:28 PM. Where the Hell was Cameron—? _

He had spent the afternoon in the typical fashion—starting with yo-yo tricks and ending with the latest bout with cloaked warriors. In between, he had crept in the OBGYN lounge and managed watch an episode of _General Hospital_, plus a few infomercials in which Chef Tony had tried to sell him French knives that could cut through tires and shopping carts without getting dull, before he was discovered and thrown out.

Then, back in his office, both Foreman and Chase had poked their heads in to check if there was anything important that needed doing in the absence of a case. _Yes, Chase_ and _Foreman, but no Cameron. _ Of course, he had sent them both off to do various types of busy work—Chase back to the Clinic, and Foreman had quickly declared that he had another consult to do before his boss could dream something else up.

House snickered at the memory of Chase's indignant expression when he had ordered him back to the task of diagnosing cases of the sniffles, but then sobered again as he checked the clock again. _4:29 now, and _still_ no sign of that small-mammal-loving immunologist_.

_How many tests could a body run?! _He wondered incredulously, leaning forward and clearing a small path through the papers on his desk so he could roll his tennis ball back and forth between hands. The oversized red and gray ball made the trek across the desk a grand total of four times before being swiped onto to the floor.

"Where _is _she?" House griped aloud in frustration to nobody as the toy skittered away to rest beneath the chair at the other end of his office. Not receiving any sort of answer, he snorted and unclipped his pager from where it rested on his hip, but paused once again with his finger hovering over the 'page' button. _He _was_ doing the right thing by asking Cameron to go… right?_ "Oh for the love of God…"

_Okay, recap for the last time—Option number one: do nothing and don't go to the Hell-hole disguised as a wedding. Sure, that would probably be less painful, but if he didn't go, he'd be proving every single one of those assholes right… _House visibly cringed at the thought of his smug relatives standing in a circle with champagne, gloating over their winnings at his expense, and mentally barreled on. _Option number two: go to the wedding alone. No thanks. _Well, that one was an easy 'no,' at least. _And last but not least, Option number three: ask Cameron to go with. Alright, well if he asked Cameron and she said no, he could play it off like he was kidding, rib her for being gullible, and then get right to the business of making up an extravagant lie to excuse his absence at the wedding; and if she said yes… _The diagnostician paused here and wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. _Well, if she said yes, he'd endure the wedding, collect his winnings, and be done with the entire mess. Besides… she probably wouldn't be _that _bad for company._

Here the thought process ended, and he shook his head to clear it of the cob-webby jumble. _He was sick and tired of stewing over this stupid wedding thing—it was just plain… STUPID! _He thought confirmedly, and with that, sent a page to Dr. Allison Cameron that read: OFFICE STAT. Now he just had to wait for her to show up, so he scooped his DS off the desk again and settled back. _If she was coming from the lab, he still had time to send those ninjas to their doom!_

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**_  
_

_Closer… Closer—There she was, up in the tower window—Jump! Slash! Almost—!_

"You needed me for something?"

House, who had been crouched tensely over his Nintendo, gave a startled jolt as this new voice shattered his bubble of concentration. "GAH—Wha—?" he yelped, as if she had stuck him with a pin, glancing up wildly towards the source of the noise. Blue eyes settled on the slightly alarmed, slightly amused features of Allison Cameron, M.D. "Oh. Oh, it's you—hang on—" And he returned his attention to the screen… Just in time to see the display flash scarlet and the words"GAME OVER" appear.

House's jaw dropped—he had been _this _close to rescuing princess Li and beating the game! HE slapped a hand to his forehead and turned an accusatory gaze to the other person in the room. "Cameron, you made me _die_!"

"I—er. What?" was the eloquent reply that she came up with, confused by the allegation and generally unsure as to what the Hell he was talking about.

The diagnostician only flapped a hand at the game he had just lost. "The ninjas!" he spluttered indignantly. "They closed in while I was distracted by your feminine wiles!"

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Cameron smirked with a roll of her eyes as she realized that he was referring to that stupid GameBoy, or whatever it was. She leaned on the doorframe, regarding her boss's dismayed features with a certain amount of fondness.

_It was ridiculous, of course, that a world-renowned doctor like House appeared to be so distraught over a silly child's toy,' _she noted sensibly, but still unable to smother a small smile. _But then again, it was those sorts of things—the GameBoy, the sneakers, the yo-yo—that made him so oddly endearing…_

"Speaking of _feminine wiles_…" House broke the silence and Cameron's reverie at the same time. He tossed the Nintendo DS back onto the desk and leaned forward, popping his back and fully observing his immunologist for the first time that afternoon. She stood in the doorway, hair now swept away from her face in a messy bun, and looking particularly—ahem—_womanly_ due to the lack of—"Cameron, where's your lab coat?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I um…" the younger doctor stuttered, a pretty pink tingeing her cheeks as she hugged her arms around herself—he was full on staring now, and small wonder—she was clad in a clinging, pale blue shirt that left little to the imagination as far as _curves_ went. "I spilt iodine on it in the lab," she explained, and, aware that he was still leering, cleared her throat loudly. "Fresh ones are in the conference room, but I thought I'd check in with you first about this page." Cameron waved her pager at him emphatically, and finally his eyes snapped to hers.

"Sorry…What?" _Clearly he hadn't heard a word of her explanation._ House shook his head as if to clear it as she sighed, and fixed her with an enigmatic grin. "Come again?"

"Nothing. Never mind." _He really could be impossible sometimes—no, make that _all _the time._ Resolving not to let him play his games with her for once, Cameron made like she was going to leave the office. "So if there wasn't anything you wanted, I'm going to go review 'Snot-Rocket-Boy's chart…" She had opened the door to the adjoining room and stepped one foot out before his voice called her back.

"Wait—hang on, I need…" House blurted out, trailing off, but it seemed to do the trick. Cameron stopped and turned to look at him.

"Need..?" She prodded knowingly, and now it was _his _turn to sigh. He beckoned her back into the office, motioning to the seat in front of his desk.

"Pull up a chair, Ms. Thang," He said, knowing what he was about to do, and trying to sarcastically diffuse the situation before taking a veritable sledgehammer to his own ego.

Eyeing him a bit warily, Cameron nonetheless did as he asked, returning to his presence and lowering hserls into the proffered item of furniture. She crossed her ankles and folder her hands restlessly on her lap, waiting almost anxiously for him to speak. _Oh God, what did he want..? If it were something like Clinic hours, or charting, he'd have just said so... So what on earth..?_

"Nervous, Cameron?" House smirked, taking notice of the way she was shifting.

"Don't know yet—should I be?" she returned promptly, meeting his challenging tone, and thought she saw a small smile of approval flit across his face. However, as she looked again, it was gone before she could be sure.

House didn't answer, opting instead for a few more precious seconds of introspective self-doubt. _Okay, maybe this wasn't such a good idea—there was still time to send her away!_ He himself shifted uncomfortable, aware that his immunologist was waiting expectantly for some sort of instruction. _He should just tell her he needed her to alphabetize his CD shelf or something—NO! He wasn't going to lose this stupid bet—it was all about being right and winning money—he had to just _ask_ her!_

"I uh. Umm… I've got a prob—I mean—Damnit…" he stumbled, groping for the sure verbal footing that normally came so easily to him. _Jesus, House, get it together!_

For her part, Cameron raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her boss. _Gregory House at a loss for wards?! Who was _this _guy and what had she done with the Head of Diagnostics—? _She wondered bemusedly, watching him flounder. "Is there… Something I can _do _for you, Dr. House?" she prompted gently once more.

"No. I mean, yes. I mean." The admittedly caustic diagnostician grunted in frustration, bringing a hand up to rub at his temple. "Alright, you know what?" he finally managed through gritted teeth, and the woman across from him cocked her head in silent question. Another deep breath. _Just say it._ "I need. I need an um. A… a personal favor."

_Well, of all the things she had perhaps expected him to say, _that _wasn't one of them_. So thinking, the pretty young immunologist opened her mouth and let out a very becoming: "Huh?"

House rolled his eyes, glad of her loss of poise because it allowed him to regain control of the situation. "A favor," he repeated, disliking the very taste of such a _reliant _word on his tongue. "I mean, I don't really expect you to say yes and it's okay if the answer is 'no,' and I understand if you're busy, because it's short notice, or if you just plain don't want to, because I don't really want to either—" _All of that had come out as indistinguishable word-vomit, and he knew it. _Sighing, the scruffy doctor waved a hand at her and dropped his head unceremoniously onto his desk. "—But I'll trade you a week's worth of Clinic hours if you say 'yes.'"

Cameron gaped at him, literally taken aback by that sudden onslaught of verbage—especially by that _last _part. _A week's worth of Clinic Hours..?!_ She wondered wildly. _House _hated _the Clinic more than—well, anything she could think of. Whatever this request was had to be really huge and important for him to offer something like that!_

"Yeah, whoa, slow down!" she stopped him, holding up a hand to prevent any further nonsensical rambling. "Okay, you need me for something. Got that part. What exactly _is _it that you need my help with..?" Cameron contemplated his jitteriness further for a moment, suddenly realizing something _else_ that was odd about the situation. "And um. Why wouldn't you just ask Dr. Wilson for whatever it is?"

_In all honesty, she was flattered that he'd come to her. She had, after all, always sort of hoped that he would one day perhaps consider her _half _the confidant he considered Wilson… But now that it was happening, _she thought dazedly, _there had to be some sort of reason that he wouldn't ask his best friend instead of her._

"Wilson doesn't look so hot in stilettos. Trust me on that one." House replied dryly, smirking faintly at the justifiably horrified, yet intrigued, gaze that such a statement earned from her. Taking a deep breath and clenching a now-sweaty palm, he finally decided to just go for it. _It was now or never, and though he thought vaguely that he would prefer 'never'…_

"Ugh… Alright, alright. Dr. Cameron, would you… Would you consider maybe sort of accompanying me to my cousin's wedding." _There. He had said it._

After having leaned forwards a bit in anticipation of finally discerning the source of his obvious distress, Cameron finally deciphered what it was that he had mumbled, and sat up in surprise. "Wait. You mean the wedding you got an invitation to this morning?" she asked incredulously, and receiving no immediate answer, ranted on. "The one that nothing on God's green earth could drag you to—_that wedding_?"

House glanced up and shot her a withering glance that he only half-meant, and she visibly cursed herself for the sniping comment. Noticing this, he shook his head and closed his eyes in resignation before replying dully. "Yeah. Yeah, that would be the one."

_He was right—she _was _kicking herself for blurting that out needlessly, when he had finally seemed to trust her enough to ask for any sort of personal favor at all! _She bit her lip as she watched him noticeably draw further into himself, probably thinking that he had made a mistake for asking. It was in that particularly panicked state of mind—_the one in which she feared he would promptly toss her back over the section of wall he had just let down_—that Cameron proceeded with her next action: she reached out and placed her hand over his larger one where it was resting on the desk.

The gruff diagnostician glanced up at their now-touching fingers and quirked an eyebrow at her. _What exactly was this mushy gesture supposed to accomplish? _His telling blue eyes seemed to demand acerbically. Getting the message, she quickly withdrew the contact as if he had yelled. However, almost by way of apology for the breach, Allison Cameron uttered one word that turned his world upside down.

"Alright."

Both doctors seemed a bit surprised by this one-word bomb, and House recovered first, eyeing her skeptically.

"Alright, what?"

Realizing that it was too late to retract her agreement now—_and inexplicably excited at the prospect, in the back of her mind_—Cameron nodded shyly and offered him a small, nervous smile. "Alright… I'll go with to your cousin's wedding."


	5. An Understanding

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** Yep. I'm a Borrower through and through. Who remembers that movie?!

**Author's Note: **Feedback from you kids is like really good drugs. If you guys were collectively a dealer on the corner, I'd say that your name was "Hector." So, Hector, I hope you enjoy this next installment-- I've tried desperately to return House to character! Let me know what you think, in an eight-ball of reviews and a dime-bag of comments. Heh!

* * *

He sat quite still and blinked. Didn't say anything, didn't move; just blinked. Let's face it: aside from the glowing scrutiny in those blue eyes, he may as well have been the Goddamned Mona Lisa. Minus the hair and enigmatic smile. And aside from the whole _woman_ thing. Okay, so Gregory House was no DaVinci masterpiece, but he _was_ sitting rather still and gazing rather fixedly. 

So fixedly, in fact, that it was only a few tense moments before Cameron shifted awkwardly and let out a polite fake cough to cut into his apparent daydream. _What was his problem now..? _She wondered nervously. _Hadn't she said yes—? Oh, oh no… Maybe this whole thing was just some other stupid test of his, one of those signature House traps, and she had fallen right into it. Again._

As this revelation came to mind, a knot simultaneously formed in her stomach and she unconsciously wrung her hands, eyes falling to her lap. _Here it comes, then—_ She knew, fighting back the heated blush that already threatened to rise in her cheeks. _The "Cameron you're pathetic" speech… And he'd be right this time. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Wouldn't she _ever _learn..?_

It was somewhere around that time, however, that House happened to snap from his daze and he couldn't help but notice the very visible signs of inner-turmoil that had suddenly seized his pretty immunologist. Unbidden, his own thoughts started racing. _Oh God, she had said yes, but now she was reconsidering. That original reply had been impulsive and she was going to take it back!_ He thought with discontented surety. _Fuck._ Now _what was he going to do? He didn't know anyone else with breasts—! Well, unless you counted Cuddy…_

The diagnosticians expressive eyes widened at the very thought of what the Dean of Medicine's reaction would be to such a request. _Not that his boss wasn't attractive, or intelligent—she certainly was—but… given their history of interaction, one of them might die in such confines that a long car-ride could provide. _He would have smirked at the thought, had he not been quite so alarmed. _Besides. There was no _way_ Lisa Cuddy would leave her beloved hospital unattended for three days on such short notice—_ Mercifully, Cameron's voice broke into his rather panicked musings.

"Alright, House," She all but sighed. "I've braced myself, so go 'head and say it."

Having anticipated what her words would be, House launched into his airy dismissal before registering what she had _actually _said to him. "Yeah, forget it, I didn't think—" He paused here as her previous sentence sunk in, and wrinkled his forehead in mild confusion. "Wait, what?"

"What?" Cameron echoed in an apparently equal amount of surprise.

"No, hang on—what did you want me to _'go 'head and say_'..?"

She narrowed her eyes, half-suspiciously and half-inquisitively. _Now what? Was this just another trick to get her to let the defenses down before slamming the punch-line home? Hah, she wouldn't put it past him. _So thinking, the younger doctor resolved to at least let him know that she wasn't going to bite again.

"That I'm pathetic. That you can't _believe_ I went for that again," Cameron said dryly, trying to appear bored and nonchalant about the hurtful words. "You know. Tell me I'd make a good puppy and that now Dr. Wilson owes you fifty bucks because _'she took the damn bait for the hundredth time'_!" She blew out a breath softly and dropped her gaze to avoiding his calculating stare—the one that she felt sure was condemning her even at that moment. "Yeah, yeah… Gullible Cameron. I know."

"Oookay. Well… Have you finished beating yourself up like a _piñata_ yet?" he asked slowly after a moment.

"Why, so you can have a go?!" She demanded with more tangible venom than she had intended. Hazel eyes flashed as they fell upon the cane that was leaning against the desk. "Know what? Here—" Cameron grabbed the wooden walking stick and thrust it into her boss's startled and nerveless grip. "Have at it."

House sat quite still and blinked. Didn't say anything, didn't move; just blinked. _Well that was certainly… Interesting._ _And to think he hadn't considered Allison Cameron _capable_ of such acerbic witticism—especially with the cane thing!_ The corners of that typically snide mouth curled up even at the thought. _Damn, he'd have to give the girl a bit more credit every once in a while… And on the _brighter_ side: it looked like he was wrong about her taking back her response to the earlier question! _Feeling better, and certainly more like _himself_, than he had all afternoon, House leaned back a bit in his chair and regarded the woman opposite him with an amused gaze.

"Oh I don't know about that… Is candy going to fall out if your arm snaps off?" he remarked seriously. Cameron shot him a look that reminded him vaguely of that one time Wilson had frozen all of his boxers as payback for the laxatives. "Or… Maybe this whole 'cane' thing is just something you're into." He shrugged his shoulders, rolling the mentioned object between his fingers languidly with a growing smirk. "Don't really know… but I've got the whole weekend to find out, eh?"

There was one heart-stopping moment there when House was sure she was going to dive across the desk and attack him. And for that one heart-stopping moment, he was unsure as to whether that would be such a bad thing—_Angry Cameron throwing her body on top of him? What guy _wouldn't _secretly enjoy that?_ However, it seemed that he wouldn't find out because in the _next _second, her mouth had fallen open and the outrage at his comment had seemingly dissipated from her features.

"This weekend..?"

The diagnostician's smile only widened and he nodded indulgently. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already?" A blush crept back into her cheeks and he felt himself soften, if only a little bit. "C'mon, Cameron… Maybe I'm an underhanded bastard, but this whole invitation thing wasn't a trick. I actually do need you to come with me," he offered, drumming absently on the desk.

"Oh," Cameron mumbled lamely, feeling a bit ridiculous as per her over-reaction. "Right, well I'd be happy to—" She started, brightening considerably, only to be cut off.

"But don't take this for something else, alright? I'm not _'bringing you home to meet the family,'_ and this isn't a weekend-long date. Like I said, I _need_ you to come with. Not _want_, not _long for_, but _need_," he almost warned her, his tone and gaze brooking no argument. "Just so you understand."

She nodded quickly, eager to let him know that she recognized the difference between the scenarios he was giving. "I understand, Dr. House." Somehow, her humbled tone and bringing the formal title back into the conversation seemed to diffuse it, if only a little bit, and his eyes bespoke an easier mood. "I just want you to know that I'm flattered you would ask me."

"Don't be—Cuddy's the only other person with breasts that I know, and I'm rather attached to my head, thank you very much."

Cameron laughed, still a bit nervously, but in a manner that House definitely considered an improvement over the previous tension. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and stood, stretching to adjust her spine.

"Whoaaa Cameron—Cover yourself up, woman, for God's sake! There'll be enough time for _that _later!" he exclaimed, slapping both hands over his eyes dramatically as his female underling assumed yoga-appropriate poses in her lab-coat-less state.

Looking down and noticing the provocative nature of her stretches for the first time—not to mention the way her already-clinging shirt was riding up a bit—Cameron let out a small squeak of embarrassment and immediately straightened up and snatched a file from his desk, clasping it in front of herself like a screen.

House nodded knowingly and favored her with an exaggerated wink. "That's right, Eve, you keep yourself covered with that leaf—you'll have the Adams all flustered if you don't!"

"Was there anything else you needed, Dr. House?" she asked almost exasperatedly, ignoring that last comment with nothing more than a small shy smile.

"Aside from you standing in for Julia Roberts in my _Pretty Woman _weekend, which you already so foolishly agreed to?" he asked rhetorically, earning another peevish glance. House smiled too, if a bit wolfishly. "Nope."

"Fine, then I guess we can smooth out details later, right?"

"Right."

Dr. Allison Cameron, file still clutched to her chest, offered one last half-smile before turning to leave the room. _She had to get out of there and think about what the Hell she had gotten herself into_… But for the second time in the last twenty minutes, his voice drew her back before she could escape fully.

"Oh, wait, Cameron—!"

_Damn_. "Yes?"

"There's one more thing… I mean. I-I need another… Uh, there's one last favor I need to ask you…"

She glanced back at her boss, who was gazing at her beseechingly once more. _He was going to ask for something else..? Well, whatever it was, this time she wouldn't be so moronic and presumptuous. _The immunologist promptly turned on her heel and strode back to the chair she had been seated in. "What is it?" She asked gently, leaning forward and doing her level-best to appear interested and non-judgmental. _Wow, he looked _really _nervous about this one—Aww, his lip was quivering! _"Don't worry, you can ask me, remember?" Allison Cameron was the embodiment of reassurance as she soothingly spoke these words.

"I need… I um. I need…" House struggled for the words, shaking his head and swallowing nervously in an obvious way. She leaned even closer, once again reaching out and touching his hand. This time he allowed it.

"Whatever it is, it's no problem," she cooed, and he took a deep breath as if to steady himself.

"I need… I need you to…to do…" he mumbled, glancing up to find her face rather close to his own, giving him a steady motherly gaze. _Jeez, she really _was _going for supportive…_ "CLINIC HOOOUURS!" He wailed suddenly, burying his face in his hands and fairly quaking with what appeared to be hysterical sobs.

Cameron was around the desk and at his side in a heart-beat, her hands resting consolingly on the poor man's shuddering frame. "Oh, no, House, don't—" she launched into her comforting babble, but suddenly, something occurred to her. _Wait. Did he just say… Clinic hours..? _It was then that she realized that he was indeed trembling—but it definitely wasn't from crying.

"Now _that _was a _Classic Cameron_," House lifted his face from his hands to reveal a smile that could only be described as the Cheshire cat grin. His shoulders shook with none-too-well-contained laughter. Realization dawned on those sympathetic features, only to be replaced with what looked suspiciously like—

"HOOOUUSE!" _Yep, it was anger again!_ She smacked him in the arm and stomped her foot.

"Oww—HEY!" He countered, fending off what might have been another attack, still chuckling. "You don't _hit _cripples! C'mon, you were melting all over me a second ago!"

"Oooh, you're impossible!"

"Can't believe you fell for that!"

"I'm going back to the lab."

"No wait, I actually _do _need you to do my Clinic—!" But the glass door had already swung shut in the wake of her blustery exit. House sighed melodramatically to nobody, undermining the forlorn sound slightly with the fact that he was still snickering to himself.

_Oh that Cameron… She _was _kind of funny. Not on purpose, mind you, but still always good for a laugh. _He admitted to himself with a smirk as he dug around for the prescription bottle in his pocket. Fingers closing around the orange vial, he made deft work of the cap and shook two tablets into the opposite palm. As the soothingly bitter tang of Vicodin hit the back of his throat, the diagnostician tilted his head back and shut his eyes. _Maybe the weekend wouldn't be _quite_ as catastrophically bad as he had originally thought. Now, where was that video game..?_

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"DR. HOUSE!"

The man in question ducked his head as if someone had taken a swing at him and froze in his tracks. _As far as he knew, only two people in his whole life's history could wield his own name like a whip. One was Mrs. Crimble, his second grade teacher, who had made one whole year of his life a living Hell of time-outs and revoked playground-ball privileges. However, as he guessed she was probably dead, or at least deaf as a cod by now, that only left…_

"Why Dr. Cuddy, you're looking ravishing this afternoon!"

The Princeton-Plainsboro Dean of Medicine strode up to him in a flurry of maroon power-suit and madly-clicking Prada heels. "Save it, House," she snapped, latching onto the sleeve of his leather jacket and re-directing him to one of the empty exam rooms. He sighed and cast a longing glance at the glass doors he had _almost _made it through. _Damn—so close to freedom!_

"Ooh, in the mood to play _rough_, are we?" he needled, if only for the sake of habit. Predictably, she huffed and ignored the comment, preferring to launch right into his latest offense to the hospital.

"Why do you make it your life's mission to torture me?! Why do you do these things?!"

"Which things?" House asked innocently. "You'll have to be a bit more specific, I'm—" He stopped short and covered his head as he saw Cuddy wind up as if to throw something violently at him. _He'd already had _enough _trouble with petite females and high-speed projectiles today, thank you very much!_ This time, instead of an exploding box of SpongeBob band-aids, something small and rectangular bounced harmlessly off of his chest. Lowering his arms sheepishly, the diagnostician glanced down to investigate the object.

"I thought you might actually _need _that, sooner or later," Cuddy stated dryly, tapping her foot with impatience.

Meanwhile, House had identified the missile to be a name-tag. More specifically, _his_ name-tag. _Oops._ "Wow, I've been looking frantically for this all day! Aw, you're too good to me—" he started, only to have her cut him off with a loud snort.

"Right. House, are you _incapable _of even doing your job? First you've got Dr. Chase down here, pretending to be you with an _Australian accent_—"

"It's the accent that gets the positive patient reviews!"

"—and _then_," she continued, ignoring his interjection with the ease born of long experience. "_Then _I find out that when I tell you that Chase can't do your Clinic hours anymore, you go and get _Cameron_ to take over! So wait, you've got Cameron pretending to be Chase pretending to be you?" Cuddy crossed her arms tightly and House didn't fail to notice what this did for the woman's cleavage.

"I can't even keep up anymore! If you put _half _the energy you use for thinking up these elaborate escape plans into actual _work_… _You'd _be the Dean of Medicine, and _I _would be out a job!"

The diagnostician seemed to contemplate this for a second, before smiling at her angelically. "Oh, Cuddy, I could _never _do that to you! Besides, my _assets_ aren't even close to as _perky_ as the ones you've got…" He took a moment to pointedly drag his gaze down to her chest and back up again, where he fixed her with an even more indulgent grin and a conspiratorial wink. "No worries, boss, I'll keep my brilliance on the down-low so that you can keep the girls decked out in Armani."

"Oh God…" she mumbled, those fingers creeping once again to that pulsating temple vein. A loud and exasperated sigh. _Dealing with Gregory House was like dealing with a non-house-broken cocker spaniel… if cocker spaniels could provide devastatingly sarcastic remarks after being scolded. _"You know what? Just go home, House. Get out of my hair for the rest of today, and I'll deal with you tomorrow."

House nodded happily and made his way over to the door. "Always happy to oblige, O Captain My Captain!" he conceded, turning the doorknob and stepping out. Cuddy was left in the middle of exam room one with a headache. Suddenly though, he poked his head back in. "So glad we chatted— I love girl-talk!"

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"Dr. House!"

For the second time, he stopped walking and made a face at the sound of a female voice calling his name. _Damnit, couldn't he just leave already?!_ He turned his head around to the left to catch sight of Cameron walking towards him, also dressed to go home. "What is it, Care Bear?"

The immunologist rolled her eyes, slowing her pace as she caught up with him while they crossed the lobby. "Nothing. Wanted to see if your _little boy stuttering_ had gone away," she shot back sweetly, zipping up her thin jacket against the still-chilly Spring air.

House sent her a curious sideways glance. _There it was again—that elusive witticism! It always seemed to appear at random moments, make him think that finally she was growing a spine, but then fade back into timidity again before he could blink. Speaking of timidity, though…_ He stopped short and it was a few more steps before she realized it and looked back questioningly. "Hey, Cameron, about earlier and this whole _favor _that you're doing for me…"

"What about it?"

"I um. Well, you're really bailing me out and I. Uh. I don't know if I said tha—" _Dear Lord, was he back to the stumbling and bumbling again?! _Cameron, however, once again cut him off.

"Yeah, don't mention it," she said, offering a small, knowing smile. House blinked. _He had been about to thank her… And she had stopped him._

Cameron patted him on the arm. _She understood that he was trying to say' thank you,' and also that it was obviously difficult for him to do. The truth was, if that was the case, then she really didn't need to straight out hear the words._

"Oh okay," he said slowly, noting the unspoken understanding that had somehow been reached between them, and wondering how it was that such a thing had happened. _She had let him off the hook. Damn, he almost felt like he should thank her for not making him thank her!_ Frankly, all of the thank-you-ness was making his head spin. No wonder he avoided doing it whenever possible!

The pair of them reached the parking lot and shielded their eyes against the natural light. There was silence, but it was almost companionable. Almost friendly. _Keyword: Almost_. As it was, Cameron was the first to speak up.

"Alright, well have a good evening, House," she said easily and began to walk away towards her car.

"Yep. You too." Obviously having parked in the handicapped lot, he was already very near his motorcycle, and turned pensively to start up the engine. He was interrupted in this as her voice floated back to him one more time.

"Oh, Dr. House!" she called, and he looked up from what he was doing. "I was just wondering if you could maybe find out about the dress-code for this weekend… You know, it might be nice to have at least a _day_ to get an appropriate outfit!"

House stared at her dumbly for a moment, wondering what she was talking about, when his mind floated back to the whole _wedding _scenario. "Dress-code," he repeated and she nodded. "Right. I'll get on that."

Cameron chuckled, her hazel eyes bright and cheeks a bit pink in the cool sunshine. "I'm glad. Okay, Goodnight again!"

"'Night…" The bike roared to life beneath his fingers and he leaned down to snap his cane into place. Now there was something else tickling at the back of his mind. _Dress-code..? Crap._


	6. Rats and Ties

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** If you plan on suing me, rethink that. You'll end up with a lot of Ramen Noodles and some TicTacs, since that's all I have to my name.

**Author's Note: **Hello again, Hector! Thanks for the great high last time, man-- the reviews were just the fix I needed! Unfortunately, this whole 'addiction' thing is a bit cylcical, I'm afraid, so you'll have to keep dealing me the drugs! In this addition, Steve McQueen makes his grand debut as an insightful advisor. Wilson's voice also makes a cameo, as does that of Lindsay House. Enjoy, and remember that I'm jonesin' for feedback!

P.S. - Charlie Blue was the only one to point out my reference to Robert Sean Leonard in the last chapter (the line about 'O Captain My Captain' from Dead Poets Society)! Now, was this because she was the only reader to pick up on it, or because she was the only one to speak up in a review? Oh well. Kudos and thanks for the comments, Charlie Blue... I'll dedicate this installment to you!

* * *

"Steve-o, Daddy's home!" House called enthusiastically as he dropped his helmet in the entryway and shrugged languidly out of his leather Jacket. Over on the coffee table, a little pink nose twitched in response. 

After emptying his pockets and ducking into the fridge for a beer that had survived Wilson's last visit, the diagnostician limped into the living room and all but fell onto the couch with a sigh Letting his body sink into the worn leather, he kicked his sneakered feet up onto the table next to the small cage. "Uuugh, what a day…"

From within his wood-shaving nest, Steve McQueen poked his furry head up to see what was going on. House smiled. _Who said people made better company than rodents?_ Once, Wilson had ribbed him about talking to his rat, but had quickly shut up when House had pointed out that Steve was a much better listener than the current Mrs. Wilson—or at the very least, _he _didn't throw hairdryers.

"What happened? Oh, just the usual torture— Cuddy was in fine fire-breathing form over the fact that Chase was doing my Clinic hours…"

Steve blinked and placed his paws on the bars of his white wire home.

"I know, that's what _I _said!" House agreed wholeheartedly, using a fist-full of his shirt to work on the cap of his beer. _Damn screw-tops! _"I mean, don't know _why _she cares _who _does them, so long as they get done—Damnit—" he grunted in frustration as the stubborn bottle cap refused to budge. Bending his good leg and bracing the beverage against the thigh, he threw his weight into the twisting motion. With a light pop followed by a rushing noise, the vessel gave way and subsequently covered its vanquisher in foamy spray.

Steve McQueen squeaked and scurried in tight circles around his food dish. House opened one eye, beer dripping from his features, and glared at his small companion.

"Shut up, Steve—I've _seen_ you struggle with that water bottle!" he retorted, taking a moment to wriggle out of his now-saturated over-shirt and then using said garment to towel off his face. Once dry, he balled up the article of clothing and lobbed it unceremoniously towards the bedroom. "So, where was I, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted?" A meaningful glance was not lost on the rat. However, it was at that moment that the phone rang.

Glancing over at the noisy object on the kitchen counter, House quickly made the easy decision of ignoring it. In actuality, he wasn't sure _why _he had a telephone at all; he hardly ever _used_ the damn thing. The annoying ring sounded again and he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. _Maybe he should just turn the ringer off so it would automatically go to voice-mail…_ But then his own voice filled the apartment via recording, and he sat back to listen.

"You have reached this recording because… A) you are Wilson, or B) you have dialed the wrong number. If the former applies to you: get a life, or at least more friends— you can't come over and drink my booze. If the latter: hang up and buy a proper phonebook. Thanks for your call!"_ BEEP!_

_Pause. Sigh. "Niiiice, House…"_

House cheered for himself silently and smirked with satisfaction as he immediately recognized the voice as belonging to James Wilson. _Sometimes he _did _think it would be great if Steve were at least big enough to give him a high-five. _

"_Listen, I _know _you're there... Probably sitting on the couch with your dirty shoes up on that coffee table—"_

House sat up and put his feet flat on the floor, staring at the answering machine accusingly.

"—_Drinking a beer and talking to that louse-infested vermin of yours—"_

"Steve does _not _have lice!" the diagnostician protested indignantly to the disembodied voice of his best friend. He also put his beer down on the table.

"—_Oh, and speaking of beer… I sincerely hope you grabbed the one that I violently shook this morning while waiting for you to get out of the damn shower even though I _said _I was going to pick you up at 9 o'clock sharp—"_

"Bastard!" House griped with a grudging smile at the thought of the oncologist finally taking some sort of vengeful initiative. _He had been trying to get Wilson to grow a backbone for years now!_

"—_But anyway, I was just calling to find out what you were planning on doing for this wedding mess that you've sunk yourself in. Call me back if you feel like conversing with a vocally-endowed human instead of a possibly diseased rodent. Bye, House." _And the call ended with a click.

Sitting once again in silence marked only by the soft shuffling noises that Steve McQueen was making in his cage, House couldn't help but roll his eyes at nobody. _Oh, that Wilson—thought he knew _everything_, didn't he? _He thought, making a point to ignore the fact that his friend had correctly guessed every single one of his actions. More to the point, though, his friend's voice-mail had brought up the one thing about the day that he had been trying to avoid. _Wedding. More succinctly: Vomit incarnate._

"Wondering what that _wedding _thing is all about, huh, Steve-o?" House piped up, turning his attention back to his pet. _It was always easier for him to think aloud… and Steve provided the perfect outlet for him to do so. _

The rat sniffed at a sunflower seed and looked back at his owner. _Clearly Steve was _very _curious about the wedding. He needn't have worried, House would tell him._

"Well, buddy, I'll tell you— I've really done it this time…" He exhaled heavily for effect, taking a swig of the somewhat flattened beer. "See, I sorta kinda told Lindsay—you remember my cousin, don't you—that I'd go to Dumb Mike's wedding."

Steve nibbled on the seed a bit and then paused. House imagined that he looked very distraught over the dilemma. He nodded emphatically, pleased for the compassion.

"Yeah, you're telling _me_! Anyway, that's not even the worst part—"

Beady little eyes begged to know what the _worst part_ could possibly be. Steve McQueen was on tenterhooks waiting for his human counterpart to finish the thought.

"—The _worst _part is that I had to ask Cameron to go with me 'cause I sorta kinda told Lindsay that I had a hot date."

"_WHAT?! NO WAY!" _Steve yelled—or he _would _have had he been capable of speech. That was okay, House understood that his rat was sufficiently shocked and outraged by the very idea. As it was, Steve had to settle for leaping onto his wheel and making it whir around as fast as his little feet could go.

"You're so right," The diagnostician groaned, slumping his head back against the couch cushions. "I should have just cut my losses and run while I still could. Cripes, Steve—why couldn't I have asked _you _for advice instead of Wilson?"

The small, brown rat stopped running abruptly, and as a result was carried around a few times on sheer momentum before being thrown off. He hit the soft shavings with a squeak, and House quickly leaned forward to check if his little pal was alright. Almost immediately, the furry head reappeared and black eyes met blue ones with amused accusation.

"What do you _mean _I just 'pulled a _Cameron_'—? You flew off your wheel at high-speeds, how was I supposed to react?!"

_Blink, blink. Joke's on you, Gregory House!_

House sighed and nodded reluctantly, knowing that his rodent friend was right. "Okay, I get your point—She's not _that_ bad, I guess. Well you know, insufferably moral and fluffy at times, but mostly alright… Even decent company sometimes. Every once in a while. Maybe."

Steve McQueen scrubbed his whiskers with two tiny, pink paws for a moment before disappearing back into his nest at the corner of his cage. _Conversation closed—you know what to do, House._ The grizzled doctor sighed on more time. He began casting about for his cell, and more precisely, Lindsay's phone number—he had to call up and ask about dress code.

It wasn't as if he had a choice. Steve was a _very _wise rat with _very _compelling arguments, after all.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

_Press 'send'… NOW! _He thought determinedly, squinting one eye at his thumb that was currently poised over the afore-mentioned button. However, said digit did not respond accordingly. Instead, it curled back onto itself and the wrist holding both and phone up went limp. House groaned at this blatant disobedience and used his unoccupied hand to slap across his forehead.

_It wasn't that he was reluctant to talk to his cousin, or even that he was anxious about what he might be required to wear—although that _was_ pretty alarming for a guy found typically in jeans and band t-shirts. No, it was more to the point that he was afraid of jamming his foot even farther down his throat. Let's face it: Gregory House wasn't exactly _known _for plotting his comments and examining possible repercussions before he rattled them off. Frankly, he just didn't want to open another can of worms. _

Despite all of that, though, the fact of the matter remained that he _had _to make the call. It shouldn't have been that hard to press a simple 'send' key in the first place—Lindsay's phone number was already entered in, and had been for the last five minutes. _HIT SEND, DAMNIT!_ He screamed mentally at himself, and thankfully, it seemed to be enough. One long index finger came down and punched the appropriately marked button. _Now, all he had to do was lift the phone to his ear, ask a simple question, and try not to say anything completely moronic. Rudimentary plans were easy to stick to. Yeah, right…_

The call rang—_once, twice, three times…_ House reminded himself to breathe, but only after noticing that he was becoming strangely light-headed. The ringing continued, despite the fact that at any second he expected to hear her voice. _Where was she..? Lindsay _always_ had her phone on her—ever since becoming an Advertising Executive, the stupid thing had become surgically attached to her person!_ Suddenly, there was a click.

"_Hello—"_

House took a deep breath and launched the most casual greeting he could muster. "Hey, Linz—"

"—_You've reached Lindsay House. I'm sorry I'm not available to take your call at the moment—"_

He cocked an eyebrow in confusion for a split-second, before feeling like an idiot as the obvious occurred to him. _It was her damn voice-mail_.

"—_But if you'll leave your name, number, and the nature of your call, I'll be sure to get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks!"_

The recording ended, and another voice told him to record his message after the tone, and that afterwards, he could either hang up, or press 'one' for more options. Finally, there was a tell-tale beep. Another deep breath.

"Hey, Loser... Nice recording—Very professional!" the diagnostician began sarcastically, leaning back on the couch and spinning a vial of Vicodin absently between his fingers. "I'm sure the potential clients appreciate it, seeing as how there's _no _indication of your _true _personality anywhere in there. Yeah, _they _may buy the business persona, but _I _certainly don't—I happen to know you to be a sophomoric goon whose greatest accomplishment to date is beating _Kingdom Hearts _on PlayStation2."

He paused here, allowing himself the ghost of a smile at the memory of sitting on that same couch with her last summer, playing that stupid game all day. "Anyway, the fact that you're a liar _aside_… I just called to ask about the dress-code for this wedding thing. Got to tell the girl if she's allowed to wear those fishnets that I love. Call me back."

Another click and he had ended the call, tossing his cell phone back into his lap and lacing his fingers behind his head. As an afterthought, he took a moment to dry-swallow another white pill. The silence was broken, almost immediately, by the jarring ring of the phone he had just put down. House stared at it in surprise for a moment, reading the LCD display on the front: 'INCOMING: L.HOUSE.' _Oh, well _that _was fast. _Without further ado, he opened his cell.

"So tell me, do you screen all your calls—or just the ones from Dr. Feelgood?"

Sitting at her desk a few states away, Lindsay House snorted at the typical greeting from her cousin. _"No, why would I screen calls from Dr. Feelgood?"_

"You just did."

"_Did not."_

"Yes you did, that's what I'm entered into your phone as."

"_Not anymore. I found that as soon as you dropped me off at the airport, so I re-edited the caller details. The promise of hearing your sultry voice is _currently_ heralded by 'DON'T PICK UP' in all capital letters." _

House snickered at this, he couldn't help it. _She was his favorite cousin for a reason, after all. _"Good one," he conceded, rolling his blue eyes towards the ceiling.

"_Thanks. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your acerbic presence? I mean, I'm assuming you didn't call to enquire about my health," _she asked, using the same accusation he had earlier.

"You'd be right, O Wise One," he agreed. _Might as well cut to the chase_. "I'm actually just calling to ask you what guests are supposed to be wearing to the blessed-event-turned-Hell-on-toast."

"_Wearing to the… Wait, Mike's wedding?" _

"Yep, that's the one."

"_Why do you need to know?" _Lindsay swiveled her chair around so that her elbows could rest on the desk. Suddenly, this call had become a lot more interesting.

"Well, I left the invitation at the office and I'm assuming someone might be upset if the date and I showed up dressed inappropriately… Say, _naked_, for example. Or in ponchos and galoshes. Or in loin-cloths and propeller-topped baseball caps—"

"_Stop. Back up." _

House smirked to himself, enjoying his younger cousin's confusion. He waited for her to catch up.

"_You're… You're actually going to come?"_

"I believe I already _told _you that earlier, Schnookums."

"_Well, yeah, but—But I thought you were _kidding_!" _She blurted, wholly taken aback by his nonchalant sincerity.

"Usually that's a safe assumption, as I'm typically not to be taken seriously at any cost, but this time I actually meant what I said." He replied casually, drumming his fingers on his knee. _So far, so good—no disastrous word-vomit_.

Lindsay wasn't fairing quite so well, as far as remaining neutral--_she was in some state of shock!_ She tore her eyes from the Boston sky-line visible from her office window to better focus on the conversation at hand. _"So you're coming."_

"Yeeesssss," he drew out with slow annunciation. "Want me to spell that out for you? Think there's a 'y' in there somewhere; you'll have to give me a minute to remember though—"

"_Okay, I get it. You're coming."_

"Hey, you know what? That sounds familiar—who was it who said that, again..?"

"_Cram it, Greg."_

House smiled at the exasperation in her tone. "Gladly, Rain Man."

"_Shut up. Okay, so wait, you're coming to the wedding… and you're… bringing someone?" _the voice on the end of the line sounded skeptical, at best.

"Yep. And unless you tell me the dress-code, I'm going to give her the green-light on the black leather corset." He prodded. _That should get an answer_.

"_Alright, alright—hang on a sec…" _a couple of hundred miles away, Lindsay House shuffled through the many papers on her desk to find a certain fancy stationary. After a few moments of scrabbling, her fingers closed triumphantly on the invitation and she scanned it. _"Okay, so this is a _huge _wedding…" _

_Oh, Ugh. _He thought, closing his eyes in distaste at the thought of a place swarming with family. "I was afraid of as much."

"_Right. So, anyway, as far as style goes, it's high-class and traditional. Military, even."_

House muffled a pained groan. _Oh yeah—Mike had been in the Navy for a stint. No wonder he didn't like the guy!_ "For the love of…"

"_Long story short—this is a black-tie affair._" She cut him off, suddenly chuckling as a certain thought popped into her head. _"Black tie. Hey, Greg, do you even own _any _tie—let alone a black one?"_

"Shut up, or I'm hanging up," was the less-than-witty retort that he came up with. _This wedding was going to suck._ _Hard._

Lindsay shook her head with a smile, clearly picturing the look of utter dismay that she knew would be crossing her cousin's face. However, once glance at her watch cut any other ribbing short. _"Well hang up, then," _She teased._ "No, really, Greg… I have a meeting in five minutes."_

"Oh."

"_So yeah, you can tell your…" _a pause. "_Your _date_ that it's a formal event."_

"My date. Sure." _Apparently, he was all out of clever retorts._

"…_Okay, well then I'll see you in three days, G— Gotta run. Miss you, can't wait!"_

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

It wasn't until the phone clicked that he realized that the call had ended, and that he was still sitting there, frozen. _First of all: tuxedos and gowns..?And secondly... THREE DAYS?! Jesus Christ…_ House swallowed hard and sighed. _Now he really _should _call Cameron and tell her about the attire… _

He glanced at his phone again before tossing it to the coffee table. _No, he didn't want to deal with it any more right now. Lord knew Wilson would be goading him about it sooner or later any way—He would just talk to her about it in the morning_. Reclining lengthways across the couch, the diagnostician crossed his arms securely across his chest and gazed glumly at the ceiling.

_This was going to be… Well, he couldn't even fathom how it was going to be. Sure, anticipating outcomes was his forte, but then again. _Gregory House massaged a temple._ Never before had those results come under the heading of: Allison Cameron—The Wedding Date. _


	7. Secret Agent Obvious

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing beyond this ancient laptop and a few chewed Ticonderoga pencils.

**Author's Note: **You, Hector, are lovely. Really. Now, I'm rather sure that's not an adjective typically associated with drug dealers, such as you yourself are, but that makes little difference. Welcome to chapter seven, make yourself at home! This chapter actually ends at a rather awkward point, but if I had tied it to the next one it would have been ramblingly long. Sit tight, I'll have another installment up toute de suite! Shout me what you think…

**Chapter dedication: xx**Buffyfreakxx – my first reviewer, and therefore original Hector!

* * *

_If the ceiling fan had been capable of human emotion, and additionally the ability to move, it would have squirmed uncomfortably under the current scrutiny. Blue eyes stared unblinkingly upwards, blood-shot at the corners and thereby giving themselves away as to the fact that they hadn't been properly closed all night… _

Greg House was lying flat on his back in the middle of his bed, counting the cracks that marred his ceiling. _3,2161…3,2162…_ He calculated sullenly, fingers drumming on the cool sheets. Eyes coming to rest on a particularly lumpy patch of paint, his thoughts wandered.

_Hm, did that rough spot count as a crack..? Sure, it was certainly an _imperfection, _but did it fall into the same category? _Glad of something to puzzle out at last, the lanky diagnostician readily allowed his mind to dissect the insignificant issue of said uneven surface. _Maybe it was just a botched paint job, which meant that it probably didn't count. On the other hand,_ he supposed. _It could be that the reason _for_ the excess paint was because there was a crack that had needed to be re-covered… and if _that _was the case, then yes, it technically counted as a crack, if a dressed up one—Dressed up. Wedding. What was he going to wear? What was Cameron going to wear? For the love of God, why had he agreed to this?!_

"Uuughh—!" House groaned aloud as the thoughts he had been trying so hard to avoid came back to him full circle. _And aside from that, he had lost count of the cracks. Damnit_. He blew out a breath from between gritted teeth, and allowed his head to loll to the right. It was 7:03 in the morning, or so the clock told him, and grayed light was peeking in from beneath his window shade.

House considered rolling back over and at least trying for some more sleep, but that nagging voice in the back of his mind told him that it wouldn't do any good. One large hand hit the nightstand none-too-gently and groped around blindly for a familiar cylindrical shape. Fingers closing triumphantly around the vial of Vicodin, he smiled slightly at the comforting rattle before going through the motion of dry-swallowing two white pills. _7:05… Christ._

_He would get up and go to work earlier than usual—maybe catch Cameron alone and do some explaining. At least if he explained it kept him in control. Sort of. _He reached over and turned off his un-used alarm, running fingers through tousled hair and contemplating the act of actually getting up before he had to. _Alright, Greg—Shower. Focus. _

"Oh, this is going to be bad." The statement found its way seamlessly from mind to mouth, and the diagnostician allowed himself one last heavy sigh before using his good leg to kick off his twisted comforter.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

_Alright. There was Cuddy, leaving her office!_ House quickly let go of the ficus branch he had been peering through and flattened himself back against the wall. The sound of clicking Prada heels grew louder—he held his breath—and then began to fade. _Phew_. Peeking out once again, he caught a glimpse of a pale blue blazer sharking off towards the Pediatrics wing.

_It wasn't that he was afraid of running into his boss today, since he hadn't done anything wrong yet—more that he knew that his mere presence at this time of morning would send the Dean of Medicine into a frenzied panic. Apparently, she took lack of tardiness from Gregory House as a sign of the apocalypse. _

House counted to thirty in his head, just to make sure, before stepping out of his hiding place. He checked his watch, found that it was just barely eight o'clock, and nodded in satisfaction. _Wilson wouldn't be here yet, and that was a good thing. He didn't feel like explaining his wedding-brought demise to his friend, as he knew he would eventually have to. _So thinking, the diagnostician limped as unobtrusively as possible across the lobby towards the elevator. On the way, he snagged a lollypop from the jar on the receptionist's desk. _Hah—Cherry. He'd need all the perks he could get, at this point_.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

Cameron sighed, pushed her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose, and tried to concentrate on the chart in front of her. The small writing blurred before tired eyes. _This wasn't going to work… But she was going to force it to._ Wrinkling her brow in determination, she hefted the packet of papers in one hand and made herself focus on the name of the patient. Unfortunately, said name was currently obscured by her thumb—one that was distractingly swathed in neon green vinyl.

_SpongeBob Squarepants. House. The wedding. What exactly was going on with that? How did he expect her to act? Was she his date, or his friend? For the love of God, why had she agreed to this?!_

"Oohh—" the pretty, young immunologist huffed as the notions she had been trying to stifle since yesterday afternoon caught up with her again. She had planned on arriving early to work and keeping herself busy with House's charting so that she wouldn't have to stare at her bedroom ceiling any longer… _But clearly the activity wasn't as mentally occupying as she had hoped._ Now sitting at the table in the conference room, Cameron nibbled on the end of her pencil and reached for her mug of tea—unaware that she was being watched.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

House stood outside the diagnostics department, gazing at the only occupant, and for once glad that the walls were glass. _There she was, just as he had hoped she would be_. From his vantage point, he watched her take a long sip from her drink and then push her glasses to the top of her head. _Allison Cameron. The girl he had posing as his girlfriend for a family wedding. _She set contemplated the mug and her shoulders heaved in an apparent sigh. _She looked tired. _

_Maybe now wasn't a good time—? _He thought fleetingly, but then shook his head to clear all excuses from his mind. _No, he had to talk to her before anybody else came in… and preferably before she looked up and caught him staring! _With that last thought, House took a breath and pushed through the door.

"What's the story, Morning Glory?" He asked loudly, his backpack sliding off his shoulder as he entered.

Cameron jumped, and subsequently splashed tea onto the papers spread in front of her. "Ahh—!" She squeaked, glancing up at the doorway to see who it was who had startled her. Blue eyes gazed back at her, paired with a teasing grin. _What was _he _doing there?_ "House—?!"

The man in question only smiled wider, and he limped over to the table, dumping his helmet and bag into a chair. "Present!" he raised one hand in salute, and then motioned towards her. "You um, you might want to get that."

Glancing down, the younger doctor noticed the rapidly expanding puddle on the chart she had been working on, and quickly leapt from her seat. She scooped up the mess and carried it to the sink, where she began blotting it with a paper towel. _Huh, leave it to House to cause a mess within ten seconds of arriving_. Watching all of this, House snickered at her and leaned on his beloved whiteboard. Finally, Cameron finished damage-control as best as she could, and returned her gaze to her boss.

"What are you doing here?"

"I work here. Got my name on the door and everything." He pointed towards his office, and she rolled her eyes.

"Right. Let me rephrase that then. What are you doing here _so early_?"

"I had a craving for good coffee… and let's face it: you've got the best brew in town, Little Missy."

The immunologist eyed him skeptically before going over and re-seating herself at the table. She pushed all of the rest of the charts out of the way and propped her chin in one hand. "First of all, nothing short of Armageddon could get you here _on time_, let alone _early,_" A polite cough. "And secondly, I didn't make coffee yet." Cameron noticed his eyes dancing accusingly towards her own mug, and she shook her head. "Nope. It's tea."

Despite her proclamation, House reached out and snatched her drink, peering at the contents. He breathed it in and wrinkled his nose in distaste. _Yep, it was tea. Probably that ginseng crap she was always drinking_. "Ew, Cameron. You're supposed to make coffee!"

"Well, you're supposed to be _late_," she countered, stealing her cup back. Despite this, she nonetheless rose once more and walked back over to the sink area. _Old habits die hard. _The older doctor observed this with mild interest.

"What're you doing?"

"Making you coffee. You haven't decided that you want a triple cappuccino now, have you, sire? "

House couldn't suppress a smile at her words, and he watched for a moment as she busied her hands with filters and heaping spoonfuls of coffee grounds. _Good old Cameron—Old habits apparently died hard._ "Nope, coffee will do for now, wench." He allowed, feeling nicely comfortable with the setting of banter. _Banter he could do. Put off the explaining for a few more minutes._

Having started the pot, Cameron took her seat again, but hazel eyes strayed to her boss. _Maybe they should talk about this wedding thing?_ She thought, but ultimately decided that he should be the one to bring it up. _After all, she was just the guest._ With one last curious glance, she turned her attention once more to the pile of medical charts and replaced her glasses on her nose. _She'd let him talk about it when he was ready._

"So. Um, why are _you _here so early?" he asked after a moment. His younger companion glanced up over the rims of her glasses, but only for a moment.

"What makes you think I'm here all that early? You don't usually waltz in until ten—"

"Actually, I don't typically do much _waltzing _at all." House cut her off, holding his cane up emphatically.

"—Fine, you don't usually _hobble_ in until ten—" Cameron looked up, worried that she might have gone too far with the sarcastic wit, but found him giving her a sardonic, if surprised, grin.

"Nice one."

She smiled shyly, mostly out of relief. _This whole back and forth teasing with House was something new—usually left to Wilson, or Cuddy. Until then, she hadn't felt like it was her place to engage him as such… but somehow, recent events had instilled a newfound confidence in that field . _Briefly, she allowed herself to wonder just how long this peer-ship would last. "My point is, since you don't usually get in until after I do, how do you know I'm not here at eight every morning?"

House thought about this for a moment before fixing her with a calculating gaze. "You just don't."

"It's not—what?" Cameron had been expecting some sort of long list of evidence that would lead to his assumption, so this simple accusation caught her off guard.

"You don't."

"How can you—"

"Do you?" he asked, but it was more of a statement than a question. As expected, the younger doctor quailed under the certainty that her boss's stare held. _He couldn't have known—not really—but as usual, House was right without having proof_.

"I—No," she answered quietly. _Damn him for knowing everything._ Mercifully, the coffeemaker stopped hissing and Cameron found the excuse to avoid those blue eyes for a few more moments. Rising to retrieve his red mug from the cabinet, she made quick work of his drink—_Black, two sugars._ As she finished, House also assumed a seat at the table and accepted the mug with a nod of thanks.

"So why are you here so early, then?" he pressed after taking a tentative sip of the too-hot liquid. Eyeing him warily, Cameron decided to just tell the truth.

"Couldn't sleep any longer." She said, only to be mildly shocked by the reply.

"Me neither."

Drs. House and Cameron observed each other for a moment, each surprised by the other's admission, before glancing down. _He had to bring it up now. _He thought, and allowed for one more gulp of coffee before clearing his throat.

"So, Cameron… About this wedding."

"Yes?" she immediately straightened a bit, having wondered when it would come up. "Did you find out what sort of dress I should get?"

_Oh yeah, the dress-code. Well, that would at least be a simpler way to ease into the thing_—_fact was something he could handle. _"According to my source, it's military formal," House told her, and she raised one eyebrow at him, removing her glasses once more.

"And is your _source_ trustworthy?"

"Not at all. Last time I saw her she put itching powder in my sweatpants," he said seriously, earning an airy giggle. "But as far as this topic goes—yes, she's reliable."

Cameron nodded, apparently satisfied despite her wondering _who_ this prankster 'source' of his was. "Alright, so this is… a black-tie affair? I should wear a… long dress?"

"Yeah, and it can't be just _any _dress, Cam—it's got to be sexy and sophisticated and totally drool-tastic."

"Drool-tastic?" she echoed, amused at this word-choice, but wondering what exactly he was getting at.

"Totally. I want to make all the other boys jealous!" House informed her in a nine-year-old's tone of voice, but somehow the truth behind this statement was not lost.

_He wanted to make them jealous..? Did that mean what she thought it meant?_ Cameron's pulse sped up ever-so-slightly at the notion of what he was telling her. _She was going as his... dare she think it—date? Well, there was only one way to be sure._

"House."

"Hm?"

"Are we going as… as a _couple_..?" _Lord, she really wished that hadn't come out as hopeful as she was afraid it had._

House stared at her for a moment, his mug half-way to his mouth. _She sounded so surprised. Then again…_ He supposed. _He hadn't exactly specified what their status would be at the wedding_. _Hm, sounded like he would have to explain more than he had thought._

"Yes, Cameron, we're going as a couple."

"Oh." She kept her features carefully neutral—_he wouldn't have to know that she was doing an inexplicable dance of joy inside_. "Well I know just the dress, then."

The diagnostician nodded approvingly, also trying not to give away that he was secretly glad for the fact that she hadn't made a big deal out of it. _He certainly didn't want any shrieking or other such girly-nonsense. This was not romance, it was a business proposition and nothing more_. _However, if it were going to be a _successful_ operation, he would have to give her more details._

"But I guess there's… Something you should know about this wedding," he started, choosing his words carefully.

"…What's that?"

"I'm going to this thing in order to prove a point."

Cameron wrinkled her brow, obviously still not fully-understanding. _A point? What?_ "Sorry, I don't quite get what you mean…"

House sighed, finally coming to terms with the fact that he should just tell her the whole story, so that at least they could be on the same page. "Look, like I originally told you, I wasn't going to go. Unfortunately, due to some cataclysmic turn of events that involve my inability to keep my mouth shut, I told my cousin that I was going to attend, and that I was going to bring a hot date."

"…Why would you say _that_?"

"I have to win a bet," he admitted, feeling scrutinized under her curious gaze. The charts lay forgotten on the table between them. "Apparently my screwed up family has decided to place money on whether I would show up… and whether I would still be a grouchy, lonely bachelor—"

"What? That's sick!" Cameron interjected, and House glanced up at her in surprise. She seemed indignant on his behalf, and for some strange reason, it made him feel better.

"I know. So. Long story short, I'm going to go and rub it—more specifically, _you_—in their smug faces."

"Wait… So you're using _me_ as a means to get back at _your _malicious relatives?" Her tone was unidentifiable, and he cringed inwardly.

_Oops. This was the part where she would become morally outraged at the fact that he would exploit her—especially her looks_. "That… that was generally the plan..?" He said tentatively, repressing the self-preserving instinct to cover his more vulnerable parts against any attack.

"Okay, but we'll have to be convincing—no offense, but going on the fact that this bet exists at all, I'm going to assume there will be a few people who'll be very skeptical of your new _relationship_." Cameron announced casually, scooping up both of their now-empty mugs and bringing them to the sink. "Want some more coffee?"

House nodded dumbly, incapable of anything else. _She was okay with being… used?__More than that—she was taking the thing seriously? _He shook his head in disbelief. _Allison Cameron had agreed to be his partner in crime to thwart his family. This was far better than he had hoped! _Finally, the diagnostician found his ability of speech, and also got up from his chair.

"You're right, the bastards won't be easy to appease," he agreed, limping over to where she stood at the counter. "Especially since you're so obviously out of my league."

Cameron glanced up at him, eyes flashing. "That's not true."

"Oh shut up, you know that it is. Anyway, I don't feel like arguing with you about technicalities… It's all about the finesse of the operation! We're going undercover to infiltrate enemy territory, here— there can be no slip-ups!" House exclaimed, to which she nodded confidently.

"Aye, sir!" she saluted him, trying to stifle another giggle. _Somehow, the idea that he thought that it was the two of them against the bad-guys made her happier than she had been in a while. He called them 'we'. They were a team._

The diagnostician began to chuckle as well, before suddenly, he stopped dead and turned to her. She looked up at him in question. Stepping closer, in the same instant he used one finger to tip her chin up and leaned down towards her, his eyes slipping shut— Only to stop with mere millimeters of space between their lips. House opened his eyes to find Cameron frozen, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock.

"You totally just blew our cover, Secret Agent Obvious." He informed her, a knowingly evil grin across his features. He straightened up, and used that same finger to push her jaw back to the normal position.

Cameron snapped to, her cheeks reddening at an alarming rate. She had been surprised by the almost-kiss, but now she understood—_he had been testing her! That bastard. _ "Not fair, I—" she protested, but he wagged a finger at her.

"Oh come on, you just _'deer-in-the-headlights'ed _it!" No _way_ you'd be so startled by a simple kiss if were comfortably dating and in loooove!" he crooned, earning a swat from his immunologist.

"You caught me off-guard…" she said quietly, face still burning, but he shook his head.

"No excuses— you've got to get that pretty head of yours in the game, soldier! We go big, or go home!"


	8. Not a Food

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** If I owned House, M.D. I could think of a few better things to be doing at 3:39 AM.

**Author's Note: **Alright, Hector... I'm afraid I owe you a bit of an apology, mate. First of all, I must say that you've been doing a splendid job of holding up your end of the bargin-- all of the reviews have kept me high as a kite for the week! Sadly, I have not been performing as admirably as you deserve. This chapter is short, and rather just what I would consider ridiculous feel-good fluff. Now, I have been unexpectedly tied up with a new Graphics lab, but that's not really an acceptable excuse. So, the only thing I can do is promise that the next chapter will be nice and long and move things a bit (Team gets suspicious, House talks to Cuddy, House and Wilson go to get tux, Cam gets dress, etc.) and that by chapter 10 our two favorites will be in a car on the way to Boston...ROADTRIP! So, without further ado, and hoping that you have been appeased, I leave you to this superfluous installment. Happy and funny enough for you, Hector? Let me know. LOVELOVELOVE.

**Chapter dedication: **the lovely kaleidoscope60, who, with a whopping 126 words, has given me the biggest fix yet!

* * *

"House, what does this say?"

"What?"

"This. Right here where I'm pointing…"

"Oh come _on_ Cameron, didn't 'Hooked on Phonics' work for you? Look, any idiot can tell that that says… Um… fongle."

"Fongle..? The patient presented with swollen _fongle_?"

Drs. Gregory House and Allison Cameron were both seated at the table in the diagnostics conference room, each with a stack of case notes in front of them. Now, ordinarily House wouldn't have been caught _dead_ doing his own charting, but then again… _ordinarily_ House wouldn't have been caught dead at a family wedding with his junior immunologist as an escort. As fortune would have it, he _was_ going to attend said gathering with said female doctor, and therefore, he _owed_ said female doctor some Clinic hours. Magnanimously, Cameron had compromised that she wouldn't make him do them if he helped her finish all of the typical grunt work before the weekend—which meant charting, dictations and going through requests for consults. Despite the fact that House knew she was giving him an easy out, it didn't keep him from grumbling.

In any event, there they sat: rifling through all of House's chaotic notes that had piled up from the last two complex cases. Now and again, Cameron needed help deciphering her boss's messy hand-writing—as she did right then.

House scooted his chair closer to lean over her shoulder, trying to decipher the slanted sguiggles that overran the page. There, beneath her well-manicured finger, were the words: 'Symptoms: night sweats, diarrhea, tightness in the chest, and swollen… fongle.' _What the Hell was that—?_

"Gimme that—! Can't read properly with your big, fat head in the light," he announced, swiping the packet of papers out from under her nose. Cameron rolled her eyes and watched in mild amusement as he squinted at his own writing.

"Yes, it's my _big, fat head's_ fault. Ever think of maybe, modifying your scrawl to a state that's slightly _above _chicken scratch?"

But House wasn't paying attention—he was too busy proving her point by not being able to make heads or tails of his own handwriting. _Tightness in the chest and swollen… Jeez, what did that say?! Swollen… F-O-N-G-L-E… Oh no wait, that was a 'T'—"_

"TONGUE!"

"E-excuse me?" The immunologist asked, willing her pounding heart rate to return to normal after that loud outburst.

"Patient presented with a swollen _tongue_!" her companion stated proudly, giving her a smug look as he slid the file back over. "It's all there in black and white— you just need to get that glasses prescription checked." House's smirk grew as he thought of something. "In fact, if you wanted to mosey on down to Ophthalmology _right now_, I wouldn't mind—" And he started to climb out of his chair and make a break for his office.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" Cameron ordered sternly, doing her best impression of what she took to be Dr. Cuddy's _House-control_ tone. Surprisingly enough, it worked—he had actually frozen mid-stride. "No dice, we're finishing the charting… so park yourself back in that seat!"

House looked at her for a moment before returning to his chair. _In a way, his obedience surprised them both._ "Jeez, Cameron. Crack that whip a little harder, would ya?" he commented dryly and she quickly dropped her gaze to the table. _Hm, clearly she wasn't completely confident around him—back into the shell she went._

"Sorry, I just—" she began, only to be waved off. _He'd had enough blundering apologies in the last two days to last him a goddamn lifetime._

"Don't. Listen, I _personally _don't have a problem with a little domination," House waggled his eyebrows at her. "But so far as this weekend goes… Maybe you should leave the ball-gag at home—you know how uptight and close-minded these high-brow military types can be."

Cameron snorted at this taboo comment, grateful, for once, for his sarcasm. _Sometimes…_ She thought to herself. _Maybe he was right. Maybe jokes could be the appropriate scapegoat. _"Oh no!"

"What?"

"The dress I had in mind is comprised of strips of tight, black leather!" she exclaimed, slapping a hand to her face in mock horror. House let out a funny little grunt, and when the immunologist looked up at him, his eyes were closed with a funny expression furrowing his brow. "House..?"

"Shush."

"House, I was kidding! Is something wrong…?" Cameron asked anxiously, wondering at his reaction. _Had she taken the joke too far? Like always?__Damn. She wasn't used to banter—didn't know where the line was…_

"Oh for crying out loud, Cameron—I'm trying to commit that image to memory! Shhh!" He hissed, cracking one eye to shoot her an exasperated glare before closing it again. A longing sigh escaped his lips.

The young immunologist took a moment for this statement to register, and when it did her mouth opened into a little 'o' of shocking realization. "You're such a perv," she stated as he re-opened those baby blues and smirked at her. As it was, an easier mood had returned, and she gave him an odd smile before sliding another file in his direction.

"Correction, my dear doctor: I am a _guy_."

"Same thing."

"…You have a point, there."

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"Beatchya!" House exclaimed, snapping the last folder in his pile shut and tossing it back onto the table. Cameron looked up from her own work and cast him a sideways glance.

"Beat me?" she echoed, swiping at an auburn lock of hair that had fallen across her eyes. "I didn't know we were competing."

"Not relevant. I still won," he replied superiorly, tilting his chair back and lacing long fingers behind his head. Cameron's nurturing instinct winced at this action, a voice in her mind that sounded suspiciously like her own mother's warning that: _'he was going to tip over and crack his head open!'_ Thankfully, she shook off the urge to scold him, instead opting to quickly scribble the last few lines on her page.

"Done!" she announced, slapping her pencil down with a smile. "You only had me by a few seconds—and I would've won if you had _told _me that we were having a race…" the playful accusation was met with an eye-roll that clearly rebuked the claim. _He was so annoying it was cute, sometimes. Other times, he was so annoying it was… really damn annoying_.

Instead of answering, House leaned further back and glanced at his watch. _Hm. Almost nine—not bad time for the amount of charting they had slogged through… and admittedly not the _worst _thing he had ever spent time doing. Having to listen to Wilson go on about Sarah from Radiology was more painful, for example—_

"It's close to nine o'clock," Cameron noted aloud, standing to stack their finished project neatly. "Wonder where Foreman and Chase are."

The diagnostician shrugged his shoulders and took a long draught from his mug. "Doesn't matter that much; we don't have a patient yet. If they weren't going to come in they'd have called Cuddy."

"Right." _In all truthfulness, she had mentioned it so as to fill up the void. It seemed that words were coming easier, but silences were still something that she had no idea how to handle. What madness could be going on behind those blue eyes was a complete mystery to her.__However, now that he had brought up the topic of _calling _people…_ "Dr. House?"

"What is it, Pookie?"

The younger immunologist couldn't decide whether to shudder or laugh at this gag-inducing new title. _It did, however, fit into the newest question that had sprung to mind._ "Well, since you mention _'pookie'_… What am I calling you this weekend?"

House, who had once again retrieved his Rubik's cube from his backpack, spun the object between lithe fingers. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean…" Cameron took a breath, part of her snickering at the irony of the situation. "I mean that if I'm supposedly your girlfriend, it might come off as odd if I'm calling you by your surname…right?"

"Oh." He mumbled, half to himself, as the sensibility of her words resounded. _It was true—it wouldn't do to have her calling him 'House' or 'Dr. House' in front of people who were to believe that they were a romantic item. Hmph, another one of those annoying details that would probably be his undoing._ "Oh, yeah, you're probably right."

"So..?" she prompted him.

"So… I guess that means you're calling me 'Greg.'"

"Greg?" _It came out as more surprised than she intended it to_.

"Yeah. See, that's my _first_ name," House told her slowly, his eyes stubbornly glued to the toy in his hands. "If you want proof you can ask Jimmy— and I'm talking about Wilson, in case you didn't know."

Cameron decided to ignore that sarcastic jab, and instead reached over to refill his coffee cup for the third time that morning. _Calling House by his first name..? Who'd have thunk it? _"Alright then, 'Greg' I can do. Anything else..?"

"You mean as far as… what, bedroom nicknames? Can I be _'Master'_? Pleeeease?"

"Ew, no." she allowed for a visible wince at the very thought, one which earned a fleeting smirk from him. "I just figured that most couples have other sorts of names for one another. You know, things like _'honey' _or _'sweetheart'_…" she made circular motions with her hands, needing him to catch on before she became the first medical case in history to die of blushing. _God, was she actually _having _this conversation with her typically cold-shouldered employer?_ Said man had poked his tongue out of his mouth as he fiddled with his cube, but now he gave her a bit of his attention. _Oh man, those blue eyes…_

"You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Cameron," he informed her, accepting his drink back and blowing momentarily on the scalding liquid. "But alright. For the sake of _the mission_," House sighed emphatically. "I'll accept any name that doesn't make reference to edibles—which obviously excludes things like _cupcake_,_ sweetie pie, _and particularly nauseating titles of the _muffin _persuasion." He paused here to make a revolted face. "I'm not a food."

Cameron laughed audibly at this indignant proclamation. _No, no he most certainly was not a food_. "So you're okay with '_stud_'..?" she asked teasingly, and he seemed to consider carefully.

"I could choke back the gag on that one, I think."

"Good, you stick to that," she told him, reassuming her chair. _So, mark it down in the history books—this weekend she wouldn't be calling House 'House.' She'd be calling him Greg, or… Sweetheart. Or sometime equally as… intimate. Ooh…_ The realization of this whole situation was a bit more staggering by the moment. _The real question was this: could she actually remember not to call him by his last name?_ "House…"

The man in question sighed as she interrupted his puzzle again. "Whaaat? Jeez, you've certainly got the _nagging _part of the relationship down pat!"

"Sorry. I just. I'm afraid I'll forget not to call you 'House'… Force of habit, you know?" the pretty immunologist eyed him, hoping that he would understand. "Wouldn't want to blow _the mission _on something so stupid as that."

"Hm. You're right." House admitted, and she breathed again. "Well then…" he chewed his lower lip in thought, tossing the Rubik's cube from hand to hand, and Cameron tried hard not to think of the fact that he was boyishly adorable in his contemplation. "I guess you can practice for today. My name, I mean—just to try to get used to it."

_This meant, of course, that people would probably hear her calling him 'Greg' and the rumor mill would nearly combust with excitement… but certain sacrifices had to be made. _Or so he reasoned to himself. As he uttered these words, Cameron's heart skipped a beat. _An accommodating House? Since when?!_

"Thanks…" she said sincerely, and then as an afterthought: "…Greg." The short syllable had the same effect on both doctors—they cringed. _She cringed for the foreign and almost forbidden taste of the name, and he for the foreign and almost forbidden sound of the name as it sounded in _her_ voice._ _WEEEIIRD! _

However, as they scrunched their noses, each noticed the mirroring expression on the other's face… and chuckled nervously. _At least it was awkward for them both. There was an odd comfort in the shared discomfort_.

"You're welcome, Cameron," he replied gruffly, averting his eyes once more. There was a moment's pause before either spoke again, and when words did come, they were soft.

"Allison—call me _Allison_."


	9. Death of Marissa

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** I claim the rights to my own insanity. Nothing else.

**Author's Note: **Dearest Hector: As you read this, imagine me hanging my pathetic head in shame. It has been a ludicrously long time since my last update, and there is a reason. In all reality, last week one of my friends needed to borrow a notebook and I unwittingly handed him the one in which I write this story. Sadly, he did not rememeber to return it until two days ago. In light of this, I apologize profusely for my oversight and humbly beg for your forgiveness. As a bit of atonement, this chapter is a good 1,000 words longer than usual... and I hope you enjoy it! ReviewsDrugs, Hector, and based on my dangerous relationship with the drug of caffeine, I'm guessing that pretty soon I'll be full-on JONES'N for your feedback!

**Chapter dedication: **mishy-mo, who consistently keeps it short and sweet with a :)

* * *

"So, how's the hangover, man?" Eric Foreman asked brightly as he spotted his rather bedraggled-looking colleague just inside the entrance. 

"Uuugh…" groaned the man in question, sparing the new-comer a tired glance. Robert Chase scrubbed a hand across his face, falling into step with the neurologist as they walked across the lobby.

"Can't believe you _actually_ took those girls up on drinks last night," Foreman commented with a smirk as they entered the elevator. Not receiving any reply aside from the rattle of aspirin as the intensivist tossed back, he continued. "You better hope House doesn't notice—you'll be wiping runny noses and prepping old guys for surgery until that sweater-vest goes _back in_ style."

Chase made his patented 'annoyed face' and snorted derisively. "Shut up. Your shoes are ugly."

In reality, there wasn't anything ugly or otherwise about the plain brown footwear, but he needed to say _something_ that would detract from the fact that Foreman was right—_he'd be doing the dirty work for weeks if their boss found out about the Wednesday night binge… And frankly, hoping that something like this would go unnoticed by the hyper-observant Gregory House was like hoping Dr. Cuddy would abolish the policy of wearing itchy white lab coats._

The Australian sighed and combed fingers through his blond hair. "I'm—"

"Screwed? Yep." The smile from Foreman was patronizing at best and Chase scowled, still fighting back the bleariness of last night's over-indulgence.

A light bell heralded their arrival to the correct floor, and the two members of the diagnostics team disembarked without further conversation. Upon reaching their department only Cameron was immediately visible, and for a moment Chase dared to hope. _Maybe House wasn't in yet, and with a few cups of coffee he'd be okay—"_

The fleeting optimism burst like a soap bubble as a distinctive, gravelly baritone erupted from the adjoining office.

"Allisonnnn, did you move my Nintendo adapter?"

"Nooo, Greg," the immunologist called back without looking up.

Suddenly, the hang-over issue seemed less occupying. Foreman froze with his hand on the door handle and shot his companion an incredulous look. "_Allison..?_" he mouthed in silent question.

"_Greg..?!_" Chased mutedly replied, his own features contorted into one of comic confusion. _What the Hell..?_

The two of them pushed through the glass portal just as their boss entered from the other room. Greg House stood with his hands on his slim hips, a whine stretched across his face.

"But I can't fi—" he began, only to stop short at the sight of his other two fellows in the doorway. Somehow, he gathered from their expressions that they had arrived in time to hear the latest conversation. _Oh boy, explaining time again already?_

Cameron, whose back was to them, still hadn't bothered to pause in her paperwork. "Well, have you tried looking with your eyes instead of your mouth?" she teased in response to the adapter accusation. Not receiving a smart-aleck retort, she finally glanced up to find House staring past her with a funny look in his eyes. _Uh-oh, what was he—?_

"We're not… interrupting anything, are we?" Foreman asked slowly, Chase standing at his shoulder, and already Cameron felt a hot flush rising at her collar as she shook her head hastily.

"Oh no, of course not!" she exclaimed a bit too zealously, and her voice cracked an octave. The other two exchanged a glance at the awkward noise. _Wow, way to be _casual_, Allison! _she scolded herself, noticing as House rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in similar exasperation. _Jeez, she certainly _did _need the practice with that poker face!_

Mercifully, it was at that moment that the four-way staring contest was interrupted by a shrill beeping noise. Now all eyes went to the head diagnostician as he fumbled with his pager.

WEDDING CONSULT flashed on the LCD display and House smirked in relief. _Good old Wilson—this was his escape cue! _He glanced back to the expectant gazes of his team and held up the small, black device.

"Ruh-Roh—Raggy's in 'rouble!" he announced in time-honored Scooby-Doo fashion, earning a short laugh from Cameron and odd looks from the others. "Wilson needs a consult."

And with that, he pivoted on his good leg to go. Cameron, realizing that she was about to be left by herself with a veritable Princeton-Plainsboro Inquisition, let out a squeak of protest. "Hou—!" A pointed look. "I-I mean… Greg…"

He smiled a wolfish smile. "Yes?"

"What're you—where're you—" she stuttered, and Foreman and Chase's eyes shifted from their boss to their immunologist as if watching a volley. House's grin widened. _He was enjoying this, the incensing bastard!_

"All is not well in Baldy-Kid Paradise, got to give Captain Cancer a hand," he explained cheerily, patting her on the shoulder before continuing his departure. "Don't worry, I'll be back in a bit, Lovechop!"

Cameron made an odd strangled noise and stretched out a hand after him, but he had already gone. The glass door swung shut with a soft whoosh, and suddenly she was acutely aware of the fact that she was now alone with her two male colleagues. _Oh crap…_

The rounded on her slowly, gray and brown eyes wide with accusing bewilderment.

"Lovechop..?!"

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"Why Jimmy, you're having wedding issues too?! It's not another of _yours_ is it? Sarah from book-keeping? _Already_? Last _I _heard you were discussing billing practices!"

Wilson nearly leapt out of his skin as his office door exploded inward heralded by a loud barrage of accusing questions. By the time he settled down from the flurry of papers, racing heart and askew green tie, the intruder responsible for the shock was seated in the chair opposite him. Dr. Gregory House made an exaggerated conspiratorial wink and reached across to pinch the oncologist's cheek.

"James, you scallywag!"

Recovering from the initial shock, Wilson swatted at his friend's hand and stared at him in annoyed bewilderment. "House! What the _Hell_ are you taking about?"

House only continued smiling that infuriating knowing-smile. "Your fourth wedding!"

"My _what_—?! House, I don't even have a _girlfriend_!"

"Sarah from book-keeping."

"_Who_? From book-keeping… you mean _Kim_?"

"When did Sarah change her name to Kim?"

"It has _always _been Kim."

"Oh. Kim should change her name to Sarah. She definitely _looks _more like a Sarah, and besides—_Sarah_ Wilson sounds better than _Kim_ Wilson; nicer ring to it, don't you think?"

Wilson had to shake his head to clear it on the nonsensical banter, and gaped at the other man. _He knew House had the tendency to invent ridiculous theories that were hard to follow, but _this _time he really had no _clue_ as to what he was referring to._

"So…" the older doctor began again conversationally. "What do you need my help with? Invitations? Decision on flowers? Writing the vows? Don't know how much I'd be on the 'true love' topic, but if you want to wow her with sarcastic wit, I'm your man."

"House," the oncologist sighed, massaging his temple. "No vows. No wedding. Not even _dinner _with Kim from book-keeping. So what in God's name are you going on about?"

House plastered on his best look of puzzlement, which was a bit difficult in light of the laugh building at the sight of his friend's aggravation. "You mean you're _not _having wedding bell blues..?"

"No, I'm not."

"Oh. Well then what was this summons all about?" he asked innocently, motioning towards his pager. The words WEDDING CONSULT came up again at the brush of a button.

"I meant a wedding consult for _you_!"

"But I'm not getting married either, silly! I mean, yeah, I'm taking Cameron to my cousin's wedding this weekend—oh, is _that _the wedding you mean?"

"Yes, I—wait, what?!" Wilson's dark, expressive eyes blinked in confusion and then widened in realization. House conjured a red sucker from somewhere on his person and took his time unwrapping it. The expectant pause stretched out and finally Wilson cleared his throat loudly. "AHEMMM!"

"Bless you!" The lollypop was inserted into that smirking mouth without further ado. There was a great, heaving exhaled and the diagnostician thought he could discern the words "_impossible_" and "_child_" being muttered under breath. _Oh Wilson—so easy to ruffle._

The younger doctor fiddled with his shirt cuff for a moment, settling a bit. _That was the thing with House… he would spill, but only when he was ready_. So thinking, he sat back and nodded noncommittally. "So, how's your patient doing?"

"Huh?" one of House's eyebrows traveled up to his hairline at this random question. "I… don't have a patient right now…"

"Oh. Okay. Hey, did you happen to catch the O.C. last night? I've been _got _to know what happened to Marissa!"

"Ooookay…" House contemplated his companion with more than a little skepticism. _Since when did Wilson watch the O.C.? Frankly, he was shocked that the pocket-protector-wearing oncologist had known the name Marissa!_ Despite this, he decided to play along, if only for curiosity's sake. "Yeah, I tuned-in… Marissa died."

"What?! Oh no, that's awful!" Wilson exclaimed with as much 'distress' as he could when faced with the death of some badly-written persona on some badly-written show soap opera that he didn't actually care about. _The fact that he had chosen the correct name of an apparently major character was dumb luck—he had merely heard the other man talk about the show once upon a time._ "What happened?!"

"Fell off a cliff."

"Seriously? Oh man, I can't _believe _I missed that! House, you have to tell me what happened!"

House stared in open confusion. _What the Hell..? Okay, he _knew _that James Wilson didn't _really_ care about that show… so what was he getting at? His friend was _supposed_ to be in angst over the wedding issue! _He thought indignantly, and yet the oncologist yammered on.

"A cliff, you say? She _fell_? Did someone _push_ her? Tell me! Damnit, why didn't you call last—"

"I Tivo'd it—shut up about the O.C.! Come _on_, don't you want to know what I'm doing for Mike's wedding? Details on Cameron? Where have you priorities gone?!"

Wilson froze for a moment at his friends accusing outburst, before a slow smile spread over his face. _Hah—the indestructible Greg House had crumbled! _He assumed an ill-crafted look of surprise. "Oh. You want to talk about the wedding?"

House realized what his friend was doing, and he cracked a wry smile. _He had to hand it to the guy for playing him that way—annoying, but a surprisingly insightful method of controlling the conversation. Wilson must have realized at long last that trying to drag information from his best friend wasn't very effective, and he was _finally_ learning to be sneaky and underhanded!_ The diagnostician snickered at the thought. _Some of his bad-assed-ness was rubbing off on Boy Wonder._

After a few minutes of easy silence, blue eyes met brown ones with muted amusement.

"Well-played, Jimmy. Well-played indeed."

"Thanks, Wilson grinned, settling one against one elbow that was propped on his desk. "So, you gonna spill… or do I have to feign concern for Patrick, too?"

"Who is Patrick?"

"I don't know—another character from your show?"

"There's no Patrick living in the Orange County."

"There isn't? But I swear I've heard you mention—"

"Patrick lives under a rock next to SpongeBob's pineapple."

"Oh." The oncologist shrugged sheepishly and House pointed at him in triumph.

"Hah! I _knew_ you didn't watch the O.C.!" he spouted with a barking laugh.

"Everybody lies!" Was the quick retort, and he rolled his eyes. _Oh yeah, good old Wilson_.

"Touché. Aww, my widdle boy is growing up!" Another cheek-pinch, but this time the younger man dodged.

"Alright, enough—'fess up about this marital mayhem. Did I hear you correctly when you mentioned the name _Cameron_?"

House nodded, but the scrutiny was still a bit disbelieving.

"Cameron as in… Allison Cameron, M.D.?"

"No, Cameron Diaz."

Wilson ignored this comment and barreled on eagerly. "Did you… Blackmail her? Have you got video of your immunologist withholding affection from a baby animal, or something?"

"Probably would have worked, but no," the diagnostician conceded sarcastically. "I just…asked her."

"And she said 'yes'..?"

"Well obviously."

"Wow. So how exactly are you planning on going about this thing? I mean, is she supposed to be a close friend, or—"

House sighed dramatically and held up a hand. "Okay, Wilson, I'm only explaining this once," he warned, and the oncologist sat forward in an apparent listening pose. "I'm taking Cameron as my date, and for all pretensive purposes, as my girlfriend. It's a formal wedding, so I'm wearing a tux, she's wearing something low-cut and flowing, and I get to show her off like a playboy centerfold in a 12-year-old's clubhouse—"

Wilson opened his mouth to object at this point, but the other doctor continued on.

"—So here's the plotline: we go to Boston; we sleep in a complimentary hotel suite; we go to the ceremony; we turn a few heads and cause the other boys to get jealous; I collect my hard-won pride and money… and we're back to sweet, solid reality by Monday morning." Here he stopped and shifted his attention back to the shiny red lollypop.

After a moment, his friend ended the pregnant pause between them. "…Simple as that?"

"Yep. Simple as that," House repeated glibly, hoping that he would let it go at that and they could go back to banter.

"Funny, that doesn't sound very simple at all."

_Apparently, there would be no such luck. Damn, he should have known that Wilson would be all… Wilson-y!_ Knowing that he was about to be invasively questioned and ranted at anyway, the diagnostician dropped his head into his hands in defeat. From there, his voice was muffled as he spoke. "Why not?"

"Well, first of all because there's the very obvious reason of: you're taking your junior immunologist to a family wedding where she will pose as your girlfriend… which I'm not entirely sure you didn't use disreputable methods to coerce her into." Wilson pointed out, to which he got a sour look in return. "And even if she _did_ agree to it… there's still the matter that you're taking your _junior immunologist _to a _family wedding _where she will pose as your _girlfriend_."

"Is there an echo in here? Where's the problem, exactly?"

The oncologist eyed his friend with open incredulity. "Uh, where _isn't _the problem? There are a million and one things that could go wrong in the span of just a few days! Even the relatively small issue of a _hotel_ _room_ is dodgy—are you sharing a room? What about a bathroom? What about a _bed_?!"

As the younger doctor carried on, House couldn't help but swallow hard. _He hadn't thought of that, yet… Uh-oh, there were a _lot _of things he hadn't thought about yet! _"We…"

"What about transportation? What about Cuddy and her employer/employee policies? What about _names_? Are you going to call each other by your last names—?"

"Already worked that out!" he broke in, relieved to answer at least one of the accusations of unprepared-ness. "She's calling me 'Greg.'"

Wilson's gaze was as of yet, still skeptical. "You don't think that she might slip up? House, what about your _parents_? Have you even told them you're going to go..? How do you even manage to get yourself into these things? You've got to realize that you're totally and completely screwed—"

"ALRIGHT!" the lanky diagnostician protested, holding up a hand and sending the other doctor a peeved glare. "Well, thanks for _that _input. You've been wonderful, Jimmy—just what a guy needs from his best friend in a time of crisis!" he stated, sarcasm dripping from his words as he stood and made his way over to the door. "We'll send you a post-card from Boston; I hear the swan-boats are lovely in pictures."

"House, hang on a second!"

"What?"

James Wilson met his friend's icy blue eyes with amused exasperation. "Have you got a suit to wear?" Since the other man was half-in and half-out of the office, he had to crane his neck just so to catch sight of the reluctant head-shake. He sighed. _Leave it House, all right_. "Yes, I supposed as much—alright, meet me back here at lunchtime."

"What for? Are you trying to woo me with food to make up for your lack of loyalties? Think I can be so easily bought, Benedict Wilson?"

"Yes, but that's not the point… We're going tuxedo-shopping."

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"Listen, I've got to get down to the lab—"

"Cameron, you've got to go to the lab for _what_? We don't have a patient!"

"Extra tests for nephrology. See you guys later!"

Allison Cameron scurried as quickly as she could out into the hallway, and didn't slow her brisk pace until she was around the corner. Once she judged herself to be far enough away from the diagnostics department, she stopped and leant against the wall for a moment. _God, that had certainly been something she didn't want to do again for a very long time—Chase and Foreman had been rather thorough in their dissection of the "Greg/Allison" incident. _

Of course she'd had to explain about the wedding thing—_having reasoned that they would find out anyway… and it'd be better to give them the real story rather than some butchered tale of smut that would arrive through the rumor mill._ However, her colleagues had been more than a little bit cynical about the small amount of detail she had given them; obviously not believing that _she _didn't know anything else either.

"_Where are you staying? How are you getting there? What are you telling people as a back-story? What about his parents—will they be there? Do they know?" _Those questions plus a million more like them had been fired at her like paintballs, and the result was just as messy. Now, the immunologist was standing in the brightly lit corridor with her eyes shut and hands clasped in front of her. _What on earth had she gotten herself into..? Unnervingly, the answer to that question was that she didn't know._

"What happened, Allison? Didn't the other kiddies want to play nice?"

Cameron's eyes fluttered open at the sound of her boss's voice, and she turned her head to the right to catch sight of him limping towards her. Immediately, her nose wrinkled into a blaming scowl. "Oh I don't know, _Greg, _can you think of any reason why they wouldn't?" She slapped him admonishingly on the arm as he drew within reach. "I can't _believe_ you left me for a third-degree from Chase and Foreman!"

"Again with the domestic violence!" House feigned anguish, defeating that effort as a sophomoric grin broke through. "Hey, if you actually can't believe that I'd do something like that, then we've got more work ahead of us than I thought—leaving you to the dogs is _definitely _something that _I _would do." He patted her rather condescendingly on the head.

"You're right. Don't know what _nice_ guy I had you confused with," the pretty, young doctor sneered in apparent irritation.

"Well you know, if you thought I was so bad you shouldn't have gotten me drunk at the Christmas party and had your wicked way with me in the stairwell."

"_What?!_" it came out as more of a squeak than anything else, and House could barely suppress a laugh at the bug-eyed expression that had cropped up on her face.

"You got me rip-roaring wasted off of spiked egg-nog and dragged me off to some undisclosed location for some non-G-rated fun, remember?"

"Excuse me, I did no such—!"

"You're right, you didn't _really_… But that's what I'm telling everyone at the wedding if they ask how we met."

Cameron opened and closed her mouth a few times without any sound coming out. _He wouldn't dare, would he? Yes, yes he would. Ohh, well then two could play at that game_… She smoothed her features carefully and gave him a nonchalant smile. "Oh yeah, I remember now. We hooked up on the stairs… and the next morning you surprised me with Godiva chocolates and a cute little Labrador puppy with a bow around its neck! It was so sweet, and definitely the first time Greggie showed his hopelessly romantic side!"

At this, a decidedly horrified grimace overthrew the diagnostician's smirk. "What?! I am _not _a hopeless romantic! No way, nobody will _ever_ believe that!" she only smiled at him and shrugged innocently.

"_You're _the one who maintains that they won't believe that you managed to _land _a girl like me at all—if that's the case, then why is romance such a stretch from there? Who knows, you could just be a closet case of sensitive with a gruff exterior to protect your fragile self."

This time it was House who gaped wordlessly. _She was probably… right. Crap, when had Cameron learned to one-up him?! _Finally, he lowered his head in a defeated glower. "Fine. We went out for drinks after a conference and discovered that we had stuff in common."

"That's what I thought." Cameron grinned triumphantly and stretched way up on her tip-toes to return the previous gesture of the patronizing hair-ruffle. The tall diagnostician swatted her hand away and pouted for a minute, blue eyes narrowed playfully. _Goddamn, he was cute…_

"Alright, back-story aside—get ready for round two!"

"Round two of what?" she blinked confusedly as he grasped her arm and began tugging her in the opposite direction.

"Of the Inquisition!" he exclaimed, letting go of her elbow as she fell obediently into step beside him.

"What?"

"We have to go talk to Cuddy."

"Talk? Dr. Cuddy? _Why?!_"

"Because we need to get tomorrow afternoon off in order to have ample driving time—Boston's something like 5 hours off, isn't it?" Cameron came to a stop, and House had gone a few more paces before realizing that she was no longer at his shoulder. "C'mon, it's not the end of the world."

At his rather insincere reassurances, the younger female doctor began walking again, but noticeably slower. "Why can't _you_ just ask her? You're the head of the department, aren't you?"

"Yes, but you're forgetting one very important thing, Snuggles: our favoritest, cleavage-sporting Dean of Medicine, for some strange reason, isn't in the practice of just _taking my word for it_." he assumed an air of injured innocence before going on. "Somehow, I don't see her readily believing me if I say that I want the afternoon off to take you to my cousin's wedding. Therefore, your presence and confirming opinion would add just a touch of earnest to the argument."

By the time he had finished making his point, they were standing in the Clinic, staring at the glass French-doors of Lisa Cuddy's office. Sitting at the desk within, the Dean herself could be seen rifling diligently through papers. House saw this and his Cheshire cat grin returned full force. _This was going to be good—barging in on Cuddy was always fun, but this particular request promised to get quite a reaction._

"…What're we going to…" Cameron wondered from somewhere beside him, and he glanced down at her with a wink.

"Just follow my lead." Princeton-Plainsboro's most infamous doctor grasped both door-handles and all but threw them inward whilst projecting a very loud stage-whisper. _"HURRY UP, ALLISON—WE'VE GOT TO HAVE SEX ON THE DESK BEFORE CUDDY GETS BACK!"_


	10. The Band

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** I've got absolutely nothing you'd want. However, if someone would like to give _me_ money...

**Author's Note: **TO HECTOR: So I realize that you probably think I went and died. I'm generally happy to say that this is not the case, despite the fact that during my most recent dastardly Graphics assignment I did happen to think about ending it all in the bathtub once. Maybe twice. Anyway, that's beyond the point. The point is that right now I'm ducking behind an upturned tableas I admit to you that despite the fact that I promised a car-trip in _this_ chapter, it has been shoved back to the next one. SORRY! There are reason's for this, but you probably don't want to hear them. What you might want to hear is that I'm not beating around the bush in the next chapter with what goes on during the last half-day of work on Friday, but am instead hopping right in at the point where Cameron shows up at House's place for the trip to Boston. Please don't hate me, Hector, I couldn't bear it! As always, oh dealer of mine, I'd appreciate your thoughts. Anyone got any fun ideas for House and Cameron stuck in a car for five hours..? Heh heh heh.

**Chapter dedication: **Rock'in Socks who shamed me into getting my butt back in gear and posting!

* * *

Lisa Cuddy didn't gain her position as one of the female Deans of Medicine in the country by slacking off—a fact demonstrated even as she sat behind her mahogany desk on that early morning, persevering through the endless paperwork. She clicked her pen absently whilst holding up the next item… A letter of complaint regarding the horrendously inexcusable bedside manner of one Gregory House, M.D.

Cuddy let out a snort, not of surprise, as she skimmed over the particulars that seemed to be centered around a few comments made that pertained explicitly to the patient's sexual relationship with her husband. _Not even lunch and already a formal allegation—par for the course as far as House was concerned._ She thought with a sigh, but that didn't make it any less aggravating from day to day.

_Speaking of House…_ The Dean let the piece of paper fall back amongst the other mail and consulted the wall clock. _9:48 AM was most likely too early for him to be in, but she had heard it through the grapevine that the caustic diagnostician bad been sighted by the elevators as early as quarter past eight! _Not only did that thought provoke confusion, but it was also alarming—_the bastard could get into enough trouble between the hours of eleven and three!_

As that particular warning from the nursing staff reoccurred to her, Cuddy instinctively shot a furtive glance towards her office doors. _Hmm, not a can, nor a Nike in sight! Certainly an unusual happenstance, but if he by chance _was _already at the hospital, she could simply wonder at small miracles that he was playing quietly… And if he wasn't, then what the Hell was she worrying about?_

She sighed and chuckled dryly to herself upon examining the thought process, realizing that only House could manage to occupy her attention when he hadn't even shown up yet. Vowing not to waste another moment thinking about her most bothersome employee, Princeton's Plainsboro's diligent administrator retrieved her pen and focused on the next hospital invoice. The peace of atmosphere and mind was to be tragically short-lived.

"_HURRY UP, ALLISON—WE'VE GOT TO HAVE SEX ON THE DESK BEFORE CUDDY GETS BACK!"_

The doors burst inward, mail flew everywhere, and even before recovering fully from the shock, Dr. Cuddy had let out an angry shout. "Uugh—HOUSE!" she slapped both palms flat on the desk and leveled a frigid glare at he who had just barged in so explosively.

House, who was no standing in the middle of the office, managed to look sheepish, which of course caught her completely off-guard… until she realized that he had turned to his previously unnoticed companion.

"Scratch the quickie—she's actually here," he pouted, before raising a lecherous eyebrow at his employer. "…Unless Mistress Cuddy would like to join in the festivities?"

Cuddy groaned and rolled her eyes. _So much for a productive, sarcastic-cripple-free morning. _"House, it's not even ten yet!" she half-snapped, half-pleaded. "Clearly you're suffering from some sort of lapse in time awareness, so listen: I'm going to just forget that we've had this encounter. Go back home and don't come in for another hour, like you usually do."

"Ohhh Cuddy, you card!" the diagnostician laughed cheerily, winking as if the two of them were sharing an inside joke. He overlooked the flat _'I'm completely serious'_ expression and turned to Cameron, who was looking quite clearly as if she would rather have been anywhere at that moment than blushing in the presence of her boss's boss. "Don't worry—she only likes to _play_ hard to get. We'll talk her into it."

"Shut up, House!" Cameron blurted hotly, at the exact moment that Cuddy ordered the same thing.

For his part, the lanky doctor smirked as he glanced between the two women. "Synchronized shut down? Very cool!" he exclaimed, catching daggers from two pairs of eyes. "Been practicing that long?"

Pointedly ignoring the previous comments, the Dean of Medicine rubbed at her forehead and sighed. _Too early for a headache._ "Alright, out with it, then: what're you doing in my office this early?" he opened his mouth for what promised to be an annoying retort, so she cut him off with a clarification. "—and I mean what're you doing _besides_ making me completely miserable?"

"We need to leave work early tomorrow."

Cuddy raised an eyebrow curiously at this request before narrowing her gaze. "We? Where are _we_ going? I'm going nowhere with you after what you pulled last time I gave you a ride to the airport—"

"Aw, I can't believe you've still got your lacy under-things in a twist about that!" House needled with a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth at the very memory. _In all actuality, he _could_ believe that she'd still be sore over the cavity search that she'd been subjected too after he had 'accidentally' been overheard whilst accusing her of smuggling opium in various bodily orifices…_ "I thought Olga was pretty gentle with your sensitive parts."

Shaking her head and holding up a hand before he could say anything more, Cuddy closed her eyes and tried to re-block out the images and sensations that had been created during said invasive encounter with a burly she-male customs officer. "Okay, I get that you thought it was perversely funny and do not harbor any regret over what you did, so let's get back to topic—why do _we_ need to leave work early tomorrow?"

The diagnostician smiled in what he considered to be a 'sweet' manner. "Well I'm flattered that you think of us as an item, dear Cuddy, but when I said '_we_' I was referring to myself and Allison."

"Yourself and who?"

"Allison." He motioned towards Cameron, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable and appeared to be trying to become part of the carpet. At this admission, the Dean of Medicine cocked her head to the side. _Allison? Since when did House refer to his juniors by their first names?_

"Alright then, why do you and _Allison_ need to leave?" she asked, deciding to just go along with him until she figured out the motive—_by now she was aware that it was entirely a waste of energy to try to _guess_ what Greg House was thinking at any point._

Deciding that giving her the truth would probably cause an interesting enough reaction in itself, House shrugged and told her _exactly _why they needed to go. "My cousin's getting married in Boston this weekend and Allison's my date. We need to leave early in order to have time for the drive and checking into the hotel."

His boss stared at him wordlessly for a moment, before letting out a chuckle. House chuckled too. _Obviously she didn't believe him—not that he had imagined she would_. "Good one. No, really, why do you need to leave early? I'm not letting you off of Clinic duty so you can corrupt Dr. Cameron with junk food and Playstation."

"You're right; I was kidding. The real reason we need to go is because we've started a band and we're going on tour," he said sarcastically, glancing at his immunologist with a wink. Cuddy dead-panned.

"A band." It was a statement, not a question.

"Uh-huh."

"Just because I'm sure you've gone and invented some ridiculous name already and I haven't had a good laugh this morning… What is your _band _called?"

"Uncle Greg and the Low-Cut Tops."

From beside him, Cameron let out a snort that she didn't even have time to disguise as a cough. _What the Hell?! Obviously he was making the typical lewd remark about their boss, but you had to hand it to the guy for originality. _Still, for good measure, she smacked him in the arm and shot him a reproving, albeit amused, look.

"Ow!" he yelped, rounding on her and rubbing at the offended area. "You're even hitting me in front of our employer now? Where is the _line_, woman?!"

"I think you crossed it when you named our imaginary band '_Uncle Greg and the Low-Cut Tops_,'" she retorted, and they were interrupted with a loud "AHEM." Each turned to look at the Dean, who was looking rather unreadable from where she was sitting behind the desk. Cameron cringed a bit and wrung her hands. _The reaction from Cuddy had the potential to be angry, and already the younger doctor was feeling self-conscious._

"First of all, how long have you been waiting to use _that _particular jab?" the other woman asked dryly, and the tall diagnostician shrugged unabashedly.

"A few days—I was inspired on Monday by that ravishing pale-blue blouse of yours with the plunging neck-line."

"Right." In all of her well-composed neutrality, Cuddy suddenly allowed a smile to creep over stern features before replying. "Well, it was pretty good."

"Thanks, I thought so too." House grinned and held up a hand. "Air-five me!"

The young immunologist could only blink in bemused wonder as the hospital's typically iron-fisted administrator laughed and raised her palm so that one sophomoric doctor could over-exaggerate a high five. _What happened? Shouldn't Cuddy have been at least miffed by the insult..?_ Cameron shook her head and shrugged mentally, conceding a slight giggle at the ludicrous situation. _Once upon a time she had been told that despite their quarreling, Cuddy and House did not hate each other and had once upon a time been college friends—but that didn't mean she could understand moments such as these that seemed almost teasing and companionable. _

"So," Cuddy mused after the moment passed. "Hypothetical musical groups aside—"

"Yes, we really do need the afternoon off," House cut her off knowingly, and answered her next question before she had a chance to voice it. "I was actually wasn't lying when I mentioned the wedding thing."

The next expression to grace her features was one of pure incredulity. "You. Wedding. What?" She managed, but he didn't offer any more information so attention was turned to the younger woman in the room. "Dr. Cameron—is this true?"

Cameron nodded, almost apologetically and that tell-tale pink made an appearance in her cheeks. "I—Yes. Dr. House's cousin is getting married in Boston on Sunday, and he asked me to accompany as a… a…" She groped for the right word, not wishing to seem presumptuous by referring to herself as his date. She needn't have worried.

"As a trophy date," the diagnostician supplied helpfully, dropping an arm around her waist and dragging her closer emphatically. "You know, got to keep up my '_mad pimpin_' appearances for the relatives, and what better way to do it than strolling in with _this _nubile, young thing on my arm?" He made a show of looking her up and down approvingly, and she shoved him away with a grimace.

Lisa Cuddy took in the two doctors contemplatively for a moment before leveling a sympathetic gaze in Cameron's direction. "Oh you poor thing—he's not blackmailing you into this, is he?"

House made a face. "What _is _it about the idea that is so _horrific _that everyone thinks I've forced her into it?!" he demanded sullenly. The question was obviously rhetorical, but still the Dean of Medicine smirked and opened her mouth to reply. "Oh shut up, Cuddy. _ANYWAY—_" he insisted loudly. "Details are insignificant, and if they're not they're at least something that you can get from Wilson instead of me. So, I guess what I'm trying to say here is: Can we go Mom? Can we can we can we? Pleeeease?!" The pleading was accompanied by clasped hands and puppy dog eyes that would put any tearful toddler to shame.

Cuddy crossed her arms in front of her chest and fixed him with a thoughtful stare. _House was being House— carrying on the way the way a child would— and Cameron… _She let her eyes drift over to the young woman who was standing as unobtrusively as possible to the side.

_Well likewise, Cameron was being Cameron—unsure of herself beyond pleasing everyone. When next to each other, Cuddy couldn't help but notice that the two were polar opposites. They both had certain defining qualities that were wonderful if they hadn't been so extreme. For example, House's tendency to speak his mind was all well and good… until his mind came up with things that just shouldn't be said. In the same way, Cameron's tendency towards compassion was admirable, until it kept her from seeing reason._

Princeton-Plainsboro's administrator nodded her head to herself and allowed for a wry smile. _Yes, she would allow them to have the weekend off, and maybe, just maybe… They could teach each other a little something and come back a little more even-keeled. _

"Yes, kids, you can go."

"THANKS MOM! WE'LL BE GOOD, PROMISE!" House yelped, grabbing a startled Cameron by the hand and turning to drag her back out of the office. "C'MON ALLISON!"

Cuddy winced as the door slammed behind the two, and she was left shaking her head at the hasty retreat. _Hopefully they wouldn't kill one another— Allison Cameron was a useful doctor with lots of potential, after all— it'd be a shame to lose her._

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"House, how about this one? House..? _House!_" James Wilson disentangled himself from the rack of tuxedos he had be sifting through and gazed around to locate the man who _should_ have been the one searching. Shock of all shocks, said individual was spinning lazily in circles on a revolving stool.

"Whaaat?" Greg House sent his friend a long-suffering glance, clearly conveying that he didn't want to be anywhere _near _a tuxedo shop at that very moment. _Damn Wilson and his insistence on the common sense of getting a tux for the wedding._

The oncologist straightened up and planted the hand _not_ holding six tuxedos on his hip. "Okay, I don't even know _why _I'm here doing this _for _you…" he mumbled. "I'm going to smell like mothballs for the rest of my born days."

House smirked and hefted himself up to wander over to where the other man stood. Leaning close, he took an exaggeratedly deep breath. "You're probably right, but to tell you a truth it's a definite improvement from that aftershave you usually reek of. Hey, hey you know what? Let's play hide-and-seek!" And with that, the tall diagnostician ducked behind a rack of jackets and cummerbunds.

Wilson rolled his eyes and instead of answering, simply dragged his immature companion out from his hiding place and dumped the load of black suits into his arms. "You know what? I'm doing you a favor, as _usual_, and I'd appreciate it if you could at least grow up and cooperate a _little, tiny_ bit.

"You really are _zero_ fun, you know that, Jimmy?"

"Yes, you constantly remind me of it. Now_—_" the younger doctor swiped a pair of black shoes from a nearby shelf, plucked a bowtie from the counter display, and tossed them on top of the growing pile in House's arms. "Get into that damn dressing room, find one that doesn't look deplorable, and we're getting out of here."

House glared mutinously at his best friend, but nonetheless began making his clumsy way towards the changing rooms at the back of the store. "'_One that doesn't look deplorable'— _what is _that _supposed to mean? Aren't I supposed to get one that makes me look dashing?"

"Usually that _would _be the case. However, I hold no delusion as to how _dashing _you can look, Mr. Band Tee." Wilson retorted, pushing the other man into the stall and dragging the curtain across the rod. "Just hurry up, I've got a dinner to go to."

Inside the small cubicle, House dropped the armful of tuxes unceremoniously on the bench. "With Sarah?"

"It's _Kim_. And no, with my mother."

"Figures, the only woman who _doesn't _care that you wear purple ties and sweater-vests."

"Shut up_— _you're spending five hours in a car with Cameron tomorrow. Maybe she'll _nice_ you to death and save us all a lot of future grief."

For once, House didn't have a countering remark, and instead had to resort to grabbing the first pair of pants off of the pile in an irritated manner.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

Wilson glanced at his watch for the third time in two minutes and rapped on the side of the stall. "Having zipper problems? What're you _doing _in there?!" He called in annoyance, loud enough to attract the attention of an elderly woman who was looking at some tuxedos nearby.

"First time tuxedo-wearer?" She asked kindly, motioning towards the closed curtain. Realizing that she was referring to House, the oncologist's cheeks reddened slightly and he cleared his throat.

"Oh um, not his _first _time, no_—_Not that you'd know it from the way he acts," he forced a smile and looked anxiously towards the strangely quiet dressing room. _Damn his inherent politeness! He just wanted to ignore her, grab House, and get the Hell out of there!_

"Your son?"

"Hm_—_what?" Wilson glanced back at the woman, and had to stifle a snort as her words registered. _House, his son?! HAH!_ "Oh, oh no, he's not_— _I mean, we're just_—_" he began, only to be cut off as the curtain shot open.

"DAAAD! IT'S ITCHYYY!" House stood there, dressed to the nines, his fists on his slim hips. Wilson immediately covered his face with one hand, and the nice old lady appeared nothing less than taken aback. She glanced between the two men in startled confusion. The taller, scruffy doctor smiled innocently and tugged at his friend's sleeve.

"Daddy, why do I have to wear this lousy suit?"

Wincing at the diagnostician's usual disregard for what others thought, Wilson shot the woman an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, he's just not… he's not right in the head," he explained weakly, giving the other man a shove that sent him back into the cubicle and wrenching the sheet/door closed again, effectively hiding him from sight.

"OOF_—_!" Went House.

Understanding dawned on the woman's face and she gave him a sympathetic nod. "Oh that's alright, dear, I myself have had experience with the mentally disabled_—_bless your heart for donating your time." And with that, she patted him on the arm and went off towards the front counter.

Shaking his head in bemusement, Wilson turned back around to be met with the less than pleased features of his friend.

"I can't believe you told her I was retarded," he accused, poking the other man none-too-gently in the chest.

"Obviously it wasn't a stretch_—_she didn't question the fact that you might not be," the oncologist shot back with a short guffaw. "Anyway, it's not _my _fault you give no thought to social norm," he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Know what? Took you long enough to get dressed_—_just get out here and let me see what you look like."

Still grumbling under his breath, House nonetheless took a limping step out into the open to be scrutinized by his best friend. _Frankly, at that point, he just wanted out as well_. "It's a monkey suit, Wilson," he insisted as the other man walked around him. "They all look the same."

Wilson habitually reached up to straighten the bow-tie that hadn't been put on right. His hands were met with a swat and a horrified expression.

"What're you doing, _wifey_? God, no _wonder_ people think we're gay!"

He immediately recoiled and looked slightly sheepish. "Sorry, habit_—_"

"Suuure," House smirked, as he fruitlessly tried to adjust the accessory. Giving up after a moment, he raised an eyebrow. "Alright, Jimmy, since you'd know… Does this look _slightly _less than _deplorable_?"

Casting a practiced eye over the caustic doctor's form, the oncologist's expression became one of light surprise. "You know, House… To be completely honest, you don't look half bad."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," the other man replied sarcastically.

"No, I mean it_—_you actually look sort of… handsome." _And he did. Wilson was a bit shocked to admit it, but House actually looked pretty good in a tuxedo. He was tall, and black was a good color on him. Hell, even his salt-and-pepper scruff looked sort of dignified above formal-wear. Apparently, the guy had the hidden capacity to clean up nice…_

However, at another alarmed glance, the younger doctor quickly changed tactics. "No, no, not… I didn't mean…" he sighed and rolled his brown eyes towards the ceiling. _Leave it to House to be put off by a compliment._"Never mind, just_—_well, that tux is fine. Let's just rent it and get out of here."

House chuckled and stepped back into the changing room with a knowing half-smile. "Yes, dear."

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"Can I help you, Miss?"

Cameron was startled from her reverie at the sound of a nasally voice at her elbow. Glancing to the left, she was met by the blindingly white smile of a whom she could only assume was a saleswoman. "Oh, yes please" she recovered, returning a smile that wasn't nearly so offensive to look upon. "I'd like to see that dress in a size four, please."

The sales associate, whose nametag declared her to be 'Janice,' looked to where the young doctor was pointing. "Ah, that's not a dress, Miss," she simpered.

"I_—_what? It isn't?" Cameron's face was the picture of polite confusion as Janice shook her head patronizingly. _It definitely looked like a dress to her. _

"Oh no, _that,_" the woman went on with a dramatic sweep of her hand. "is so much _more _than a dress. It's the _Faviana Empire Gown._"

Cameron had to fight back the urge to snort and roll her eyes. _Oh God, not one of _these_ women…_ Instead of giving into an urge that she would classify as _Housian_, the immunologist politely disguised her laugh as a cough and decided to play along. "My mistake, then. May I please see that _gown_ in a size four?"

Janice nodded. "Why yes, you have impeccable taste. I'll be back in the flashiest of flashes with your request." And with that, the saleswoman didn't so much as walk, as _whisk_ away towards the back of the store.

Once she was out of earshot, Cameron let out the sigh she had been holding in. "Dear God…" she mumbled, wondering at the disgustingly cheery and somewhat robotic demeanor of sales people these days. _Back in the flashiest of flashes..? _she shivered at the sugary memory of the woman's pitchy voice, and consoled herself only with looking upon the dress_—_no, _gown—_she had pointed out.

The _Faviana Empire Gown,_ as it was apparently called, was a beautiful wine-purple halter-top piece of formal-wear that admittedly, she had been eyeing for the past few weeks every time she walked past. Up until then, however, she had had absolutely no excuse to purchase it. Cameron smiled a more genuine smile as the _reason_ she now had as an excuse re-surfaced in her mind. _Wedding date to accompany Gregory House, and they were leaving... tomorrow. _

Her eyes widened at that revelation. _Holy crap, she had to get home and pack! She had to make sure everything was in order, and probably call him to get some final details. Oh God, this was so last minute... But, if absolutely nothing else... there was the promise that things would be interesting_.


	11. Obsolete, Maestro!

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** I'm completely off my rocker. If you bring me to court, be warned that I plead a very good case for insanity and you will not win.

**Author's Note: **Hector, my friend, you do me quite the honor. Okay, so I'm a bum that does not deserve the amount of patience that you all display while waiting for me to get my sorry behind in gear and write. That being said, here's the next part! It's 2:37AM and I have a psychology class in less than 6 hours, so I don't even have time to write the usual novel of an author's note! I will say that I'm going to enjoy the next part of this car-ride very much indeed, and once again repeat my request: does anyone have anything they'd like to particularly see happen in the confines of Cameron's practical vehicle..? I will take any and all ideas into careful consideration, and if they fit the plot and characters, have absolutely no problem including all of them! Hector, what you and I have... well, it's straight love. SPEAK YOUR MIND TO ME, WILL YA?!

**Chapter dedication: **the incomprable C. LeShay who gave me lovely inspiration and constructive criticism when I was annoying enough to ask.

* * *

"House, would you _please_ stop sulking and cooperate for _two seconds_?!" James Wilson stood near the closet, holding up two ties. "C'mon, you only need enough stuff for two days! Why is this taking so long?!"

Gregory House sat on his bed with his shoulders leaning against the wall and both legs stretched out in front of him. Clothes were scattered over the sheets around him, and he didn't bother to soften his scowl before answering. "I dunno—last time checked I was _already _packed _before_ you decided to show up!"

Wilson could only stare in that patented 'incredulous-Wilson-stare' sort of way. "Uh, yeah and it's a very good thing I _did_ decide to show up and check on you—you had a duffle bag stuffed with logo tees and jeans!" he argued back, lobbing a wrinkled, red shirt at his friend for emphasis.

Batting the item away, the diagnostician could only shrug insolently. "Yeah, jeans and shirts are what I wear. Don't you know that by now?"

"Ohh, only too well," the other man sighed, letting the ties drop in defeat. "Alright, you know what? If you want to try to wow your high-brow relatives with the _grubby twelve-year-old_ look, then that's _your _deal. _However_, since I was under the delusion that you wanted to _impress_ them—"

"Alright, alright!" House interjected impatiently with a wave of his cane. "I get that the _fashion police_," he gestured rather accusingly towards the oncologist. "Don't approve of my wardrobe. In light of that, wifey—"

"I _really_ wish you wouldn't call me that."

"Why ever not?"

"Oh I don't know… Maybe because I'm _not_ your _wife_?"

"Well if you're going to get _technical_ on me…" The taller doctor made a particularly offended face before simply flapping his hand. "So just make your point—what do _you_ suggest I do?"

"Well…" Wilson couldn't help but allow himself a self-satisfied smirk at the resignation of his stubborn friend. "Folding would be a start." He plucked a rumpled over-shirt from the open gym bag and tossed it towards his companion.

House caught the item and pulled a face, but reluctantly began to shake out a few wrinkles in the fabric. "God, Jimmy, you're _so_ cramping my style!"

"You say that as if you've _got_ style—gimme that, you useless man-child—have you _ever_ folded a shirt?!" So saying, the younger doctor snatched the piece of clothing back from fumbling fingers that were usually seen so graceful. Making quick, neat work of the task, he handed it back before grabbing a pair of jeans and repeating the process. House grinned petulantly. _Oh how easily James Wilson could be manipulated into doing the dirty work—that Tom Sawyer had _nothing_ on Greg House!_

However, it was at that moment that further scolding and sarcasm was averted at the ring of a cell phone. The lanky diagnostician gazed at his friend expectantly.

"Aren't you going to get that?" he asked, and Wilson cocked an eyebrow.

"We have the same generic phone ring… Why are you so sure that it's mine?"

"One of two reasons. One: nobody calls me besides you and you're here. Two: my phone battery is dead."

"My surprise is palpable," the PPTH head of oncology deadpanned even as he strode quickly out of the room in search of his ringing phone. Moments later, he returned just having brought the device to his ear. "This is James Wilson."

_"_ _Hello Dr.__Wilson__… This uh. This is Dr. Cameron." _

Obviously hearing only one half of the conversation, House shot his companion a questioning glance at the mild look of surprise that had appeared on Wilson's face. _Who was calling? Clearly not Cuddy—the guy had a very specific Cuddy's-calling-face that was something akin to either 'Kill me now' if the topic was bitching about a certain diagnostician… or 'Hello Dr. Cuddy, my name is James Wilson, Sex God' for any other reason. _He snickered to himself at the thought, before wondering again. _It wasn't the wife either, because that expression was very clearly 'my marriage blows, but I'm not admitting it.' So… if it wasn't Cuddy or Mrs. Wilson III, then who was it..?_

"Ah, what can I do for you, Dr. Cameron?" Wilson replied, and House snorted and glanced at the ceiling. _Ohhh, what did the Care-bear M.D. want?_

_"I… Well, I apologize for disturbing you, but I was trying to reach House and—"_

"And his phone is off. Yeah, has this annoying habit of _never_ recharging the battery," the younger doctor interjected wryly. On the other end, Cameron laughed shortly.

_"Hm, somehow that doesn't shock me." _

"I should hope not—it's certainly not the _least _of the potential surprises you're in for in the next forty-eight hours or so."

The immunologist opened her mouth as if to chuckle again, but stopped short at the realization that he wasn't really kidding. _Oh God… what had she unwittingly signed on for?!_

_"I um. Well. Right."_ She stumbled, and the kindly oncologist immediately took pity on her.

"Oh don't worry so much, Cameron. Just trust me when I tell you that you handle him better than most," he assured her, even while continuing to fold another shirt. "Besides—and he'll kill me later for telling—but he has a certain _soft_ spot for you—"

"Wrong. I'm killing you NOW!" Even before Wilson had finished his sentence, House had levered himself to his feet and hop-skipped across the room with agility that defied the word 'crippled'. In another half-second he had belted the other man in the gut with his cane and snatched the cell-phone as his victim doubled over.

"OOF—!" Went Wilson, grabbing his now winded stomach.

"Turncoat!" the diagnostician retorted indignantly before drawing a breath and holding the phone to his ear. "Pay no attention to my unfortunate friend—he is mentally, and probably now physically, infirm," he announced in a somewhat strained voice. _Why did _ _Wilson__ always have to open his big mouth..?_

Having heard the scuffle, Cameron didn't respond right away due to the fact that she had clamped a hand over her mouth in attempt to stifle confused laughter. _Clearly Dr. Wilson had just been assaulted, but more interesting was what had been said _before_ the beating and shouting… House… House had a _soft spot_ for her..?_

"Earth to Ally."

Wincing at the hated shortening of her first name, she quit wondering and noticed that she should probably take an active role in the phone conversation. _Deep breath, Allison, you're dealing with House again._ Clearing her throat to let him know that she was still on the line, the pretty, young doctor steeled her voice and her nerves. _"What did you do to _ _Wilson__?"_

House smirked, glanced over to where his friend was still all doubled up in the corner, and hopped back over to the bed to sit down. "What ever do you mean, Ally?"

_"Ew, don't call me Ally. Unless you'd like to be called Greggie… Since we're going by first names, it's Allison, please."_

Somewhat taken aback by her strong words, and even more by her even tone, the diagnostician blinked and thought of something blatantly unintelligent to say. "Oh. Right. Allison." _Crap. There went all control over the exchange._

_"Thanks, Greg." _

"Don't mention it."

An awkward pause, and suddenly both parties were feeling like they had lost the upper-hand still so coveted in their interactions. Cameron was left worrying that he would change his mind about the whole thing and send her back to work, while House was pretty sure she was about to cancel on him. All in all, it was a rather tense moment of silence. Finally, and surprisingly, it was the immunologist who broke in.

_"So are you ready to go yet, Super-stud?" _she tried, knowing that the goofy name could either bring back some humor, or explode right in her face. _Please just let him chuckle…_

House let out an unwitting guffaw before he even realized doing so. _Super-stud? Wow, it seemed like _someone _had grown a spine, and a sense of humor to boot!_ And just like that, the mood became mercifully lighter again. Smirking inanely as he clenched the phone with his shoulder, he rose once more and began a slightly ungainly trip over to the window. "Why? Are you waiting at my front-door with your suitcases, already?" It was sarcasm, of course, that turned to surprise as the sharp sounds of knuckles on wood reached his ears at that very moment. _No way! She was… here?_

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x... **

Allison Cameron was wondering if she should bolt now, whilst still physically and emotionally intact. Standing in front of a green door labeled 221B, she contemplated the obvious plusses of making a break for the street—but before she could, the heavy portal swung inward to reveal a bemused House. They took a moment to size one another up. _Oh boy._

"You um. You pack light, eh?" House asked at last, glancing to her sides and noticing the lack of luggage. It was all he could think of to say. "I mean, it's more than fine with me if you've decided to ditch pretense and go birthday suit for the ceremony, but didn't you at least bring a toothbrush and deodorant?"

"Pardon?" she queried, before following his gaze to the empty floor-space around her and realizing what he was referring to. "Oh. Oh no, my stuff is in the back of my car."

"You… weren't planning on bringing it with?"

"Of course I did, I just didn't see the point in dragging it _out_ of the car, only to have to throw it back _in _again two minutes later."

The retorts were quick, and the diagnostician silently appreciated this new, bolder Allison. However, her latest response made him pause. "What do you mean, '_have to throw it back in again'_..?"

Cameron shot him a funny look, taking a moment to sweep a few loose pieces of hair back from her face. "Well since we're taking my car—"

"Wait, what?! _Your _car? When did we decide that we were taking _your _silly, little, environmentally-friendly-soccer-mom-mobile?" House interrupted sharply, and was slightly put-off when she laughed in his face.

"Um, when you used Dr. Wilson's money to buy that orange crotch-rocket instead of a sensible car," the immunologist replied with something akin to a knowing smirk. "C'mon, _Greg_, you can't possibly have thought we were going to ride doubled up on a motorcycle all the way to Boston—you don't even have trunk-space!"

The gruff doctor in front of her opened his mouth immediately, as if to answer with some snappy remark, but closed it again after a few moments of looking like a fish out of water. No words were forthcoming, because Hell, she was right—it was just another of those things that he hadn't bothered to consider. _Taking the bike to _ _Massachusetts__ was obviously out of the question, but… Cameron's sedan?!_ He shifted unhappily at the very thought, and felt more than a bit stupid for not having taken transportation in stride.

"You… seriously thought we were going to take your bike?" Cameron asked again, a bit confused this time when he hadn't responded. _Had he really?_

"No. I just. I thought..." House stumbled, before letting out an aggravated breath between his teeth. _Damnit… bumbling idiot again._ "Never mind. Fine, we'll take your Malibu Barbie car, but _I'm _taking control of the stereo!" he announced rather petulantly, and to her credit, Cameron just shrugged and offered him a small smile.

"Okay, you listen to good music. By the way—I don't drive a _Malibu__ Barbie car_."

Right then Wilson made his entrance from the bedroom, and he smiled when he spotted Cameron in the doorway. "Hey, Cameron, glad you made it."

" Hello Dr. Wilson," she replied amicably, as he made his way over to the pair of them and plunked down the duffle bag and knapsack he had been lugging. In the other hand, he held a black garment bag, and this he draped over House's arm unceremoniously. The immunologist had to suppress a giggle at the sight—_apparently _ _Wilson__ played nanny to House even when they weren't at the hospital._

"So that's everything, right?" the younger man asked, planting his hands on his hips in a familiar fashion. House nodded, to which he received a skeptical stare. "Did you remember basic toiletries? How about your cell phone charger? Sneakers for walking around in? Extra Vico—"

"YES! I've got everything, for the love of God!" the diagnostician erupted, his ears reddening ever so slightly at the way Wilson was mother-henning over him in front of his… date. _What was this, prom night?! Was the guy going to take pictures of them before they left?! _"Leave off playing wife!"

Wilson stopped talking, but did nothing to wipe the smirk off of his features as he noticed his friend's slight embarrassment. "Okay then, just checking." He turned to Cameron with a secretive wink and a particularly maternal voice. "You know, he'd forget his head if it wasn't screwed on—"

"We're _going _now!" House announced loudly, slinging both bags over his shoulder and grasping the tux in the other hand. Without further delay, he re-gripped his cane and pushed past Cameron to leave the apartment. _Stupid _ _Wilson__…_

After sharing an amused smile with a certain oncologist, Cameron turned to follow her limping travel companion. "Thanks for everything, Dr. Wilson, we'll see you on work on Monday!" she called back to the man in the doorway.

Wilson waved. "Good luck and try to have fun!" he replied, before shaking his head to himself and mumbling to nobody in particular: "And no, Cameron—thank _you_."

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x... **

"House, what're you looking for?"

Cameron was sitting behind the wheel of her silver Maxima, staring over at her passenger with a slightly puzzled expression on her face. However, said passenger, who was currently staring intently at her radio, didn't answer. "House..?" She said again, still to no avail, and sighed. _Why was he ignoring—oh._ "Greg?" she tried, and this time he glanced over at her slyly.

"What's that, Allison?"

The young immunologist quirked the corner of her mouth in wry amusement at the fact that he was now refusing to answer to his surname. _Good practice for the weekend indeed_. "What exactly are you looking for?"

Now he was poking all sorts of buttons and knobs, and she could see a frown start to tug at his features. _Uh oh, what could be wrong already? They hadn't even pulled out of the parking space yet! _Finally, House let out an exasperated snort and turned his attention to her. "Well..?" She prompted curiously.

"You've got to be _kidding_ me—you haven't got a cassette deck in this shiny heap of junk?!" he demanded, only to receive an incredulous glance as they idled away from the curb and out onto the road.

"Um, forgive me for my apparent ignorance and tell me _why _you would need something as close to obsolete as a tape player?"

"_Because_, _Allison,_" the diagnostician explained patronizingly. "As maestro for this road-trip, I'm in need of a means to sync my iPod through your stereo—something I actually _bothered _to think about—" and he rummaged in his blue knapsack and proceeded to pull out a cassette adapter and wave it around in agitation. "—but I hadn't figured on the fact that you wouldn't_ have _a tape deck in this new-fangled car!"

Cameron took in the scowl out of the corner of her eye as she navigated the still familiar streets, and shook her head. "And _I _hadn't figured on you _whining like a two-year-old_ before we were out of sight of your townhouse, _Greg_," she retorted calmly before taking one hand off of the wheel to motion towards his bag. "I'm assuming you brought headphones—make use of them and save us _both _a headache."

House once again opened his mouth as if to reply, but once again found himself without a witty remark. _It was getting alarming that she was gaining the ability to shut him up!_ He thought, but certainly wasn't about to let _her _know and gloat about it. With that resolution firmly in mind, the grumpy doctor began rummaging noisily through his backpack to locate a pair of suitable phones.

As he busied himself, Cameron couldn't help but sneak glances at him every few moments. She silently laughed at the way he carefully disentangled the ear buds from their snarl, inwardly smiled at the grouchy expression on his face as he inserted them, and then nearly winced as too-loud-music blasted straight down his ears.

House sat with his good leg bent at the knee and his Nike resting on the glove-compartment. The other leg was stretched out in front of him, and as he shifted a bit, she noticed that he had left a muddy sneaker-print on the otherwise immaculate dash. Even as she observed this whole scene with a warm feeling, Allison Cameron couldn't help but roll her eyes at herself and force-concentrate on the road. _Oh God, who the Hell was she kidding—she still had it bad for Gregory House. _

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x... **

Only forty-five minutes into the five hour drive, and already Cameron was beginning to feel lonely, despite the fact that she was sitting mere feet away from her boss. The thing was that House had followed her advice about listening to his own music—advice she now regretted giving—which had been fine at first, but now left her feeling isolated from him. Shooting another furtive glance to her right, the pretty, young doctor secretly observed the man riding shot-gun.

As he had been for nearly the whole ride, House was staring moodily out the window at nothing with his music up way too loud. Even from where she sat, Cameron could clearly hear the words to "Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones, and for a moment her maternal instinct kicked in. _He's going to hurt his hearing permanently if he doesn't turn that down!_ she thought, and on a whim, reached over and brushed his shoulder.

House jumped at the unexpected contact as if she had electrocuted him, and whipped his head around in an alarmingly fast jerk. Staring into momentarily startled and unguarded blue eyes, Cameron had to consciously stifle a giggle as she motioned for him to pull the buds from his ears.

Without giving her the acknowledgement of actual speech, the caustic diagnostician merely sent her a look that very obviously said: _whaaat..?! _

"You should turn down the volume if you don't want to go completely deaf within the next two years," she told him, inwardly glad to have broken the silence between them at last. House, however, gazed at her incredulously without moving. _Maybe he got enough mothering from _ _Wilson_

"You have got to be kidding me," he intoned slowly, after a moment's pause, but she was already reaching over and plucking the iPod from his grip and sliding her thumb around the wheel to bring the sound levels back to normal.

"You'll be able to hear Mick's wailing and Keith's riffing just fine like that," Cameron confirmed, patting his knee before returning both hands to the wheel and her eyes to the road.

House mumbled something unintelligible under his breath before turning his attention back to the headphones. _She was already trying to play wife,_ he forced himself to think, while at the same time trying to repress the pleased wonderment at the fact that she seemed to be familiar with one of his favorite bands. He glanced over at her, taking in her petite form silhouetted against the sunshine pouring in the opposite window. _Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be so bad…_ These thoughts were cut off as the air was rent with a shriek.

"EEK!" Cameron squeaked in alarm, for a chipmunk had decided to make a suicidal bid for the opposite side of the road. Predictably, the immunologist jammed the brakes and swerved to avoid hitting the small animal, pitching them both to the side within the vehicle. _Oh my God! _She thought, swinging the wheel again to right the car.

"CHRIST!" House yelped in response as he was jostled against the seat-belt that his paranoid companion had insisted her wear.

Moments later, the immediate danger was gone, they were back on course, and Allison Cameron let out a relieved breath. _Ooh, that was close—she had almost hit the poor thing!_ Her mental relief was cut off by a loud, disbelieving snort coming from the man beside her. Frankly, she was almost afraid to look over at to receive the brutal accusations of 'mammal-loving,' but once again that soccer-mom kicked in.

"Are you okay..?" She asked a bit breathlessly, and upon getting no immediate response, glanced towards her passenger.

Gregory House was holding up his headphones and staring at them in something akin to horror—the jolting motion from the swerving car had caused him to tear the ear-piece clean off of the left earphone, and it was currently dangling there by a mangled wire. _No more iPod for House_.

"Uh-oh…" Cameron sighed softly, realizing exactly what '_no more iPod for House'_ meant. _Not even an hour into the road-trip to a wedding, and she had managed to destroy the only thing keeping her volatile companion appeased. _He had by now shifted his icy stare to her form, and frankly she could feel the frost. _No more iPod for House and 'uh-oh' didn't even begin to describe it. NOW WHAT?! _


	12. Scorpionfish

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** For the twelfth time, I own nothing.

**Author's Note: **So first, I put it to you: does anyone find it as... well... _freaky_ as I did to hear that of the billions of names on this planet, Wilson's dog was named HECTOR?! What are the odds?! Haha let's just say I nearly spat out my diet Pepsi whilst watching last week's episode. That aside, I am once again sorry about the long wait. What can I say, mate, it's final exams time. Ergh. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy this installment, and the next will put them in the grand old city of Boston, Massachusetts. Comments of all shapes and sizes are always welcome in my home! Got any for sale?

**SIDE NOTE:** I'm in the market for a beta reader. If you're interested in my specific brand of editing torture, send me a PM and I'll take the first one or two who respond!

**Chapter dedication: **the scrumptious JellyBean30 who... well, has a name that makes me long for Easter candy... and ALSO reviews faithfully :-)

* * *

_Tap…Tap…Tap…_

"Could you… _Not_?"

House gave a start and quickly glanced over to the woman currently driving what he considered to be his prison on wheels. It had, in actuality, been only fifteen minutes since the untimely demise of his headphones, but the grouchy diagnostician would have sworn on his less-than-reputable name that lifetimes had passed by under cover of the heavy silence. In that time, he had grown tired of counting telephone poles, and had since moved on to absently tapping his cane against the window. It was that specific action that brought him to the current situation of being the subject of an annoyed stare.

"Am I _annoying_ you?" he asked with an incensing grin. _May as well get the woman to admit that he wasn't good company, as she obviously hoped._

Allison Cameron, who was doing the driving and the admonishing, cast him a calculating glance out of the corner of her eye. _Judging by his tone, he was testing her—Hmph. Well, she certainly wasn't going to give him that bit of satisfaction_. "No," she retorted with forced good will, adding a smile of her own for emphasis. "Keep tapping, if that's what floats your boat."

_Tap…Tap…Tap…Tap…Tap…_

He kept it up for another full minute before deciding reluctantly that there was little allure to the motion after she had called it to his attention. Dropping the offending item down to rest between his knees, he sighed melodramatically. _But he wasn't giving in—Never! He was just going to find some other way to crack her…_ The scruffy doctor assured himself, before opening his mouth to let out his best whine.

"I'm bored," he announced, as if it _weren't _the most painfully obvious thing in the world. Cameron scoffed.

"And I'm having a _wonderful_ time stewing in awkward silence with my misanthropic employer," she chuckled harshly, shooting her companion a sidelong glare. After another relapse into quiet, however, she cleared her throat. "Alright, since the rather large, ADHD-seven-year-old part of you _requires_ entertainment…"

House looked over at the profile of his immunologist in mild surprise. _She was going to humor him..?_

"Why don't we play a road game?"

The surprise turned to slight bewilderment, but it was mere moments before that turned into a positively lecherous leer. "Well okay, but make sure you put it on cruise-control," he grinned, making quite the show of leaning across the center console and reaching for his zipper in the same motion.

"STOP! You're _sick!_" Cameron half-screeched, half-laughed. She swatted at his reaching hand and scooted to the other side of her seat.

"Excuse me, _you're _the one who suggested—"

"That is _not _what is meant by the term '_road games_'!" She yelped, and once satisfied that he wasn't about to continue with his dastardly advances, the pretty, young doctor shook her head. "C'mon, you can't possibly tell me you've never played License Plate Bingo or the Animal Game?"

House immediately opened his mouth to retort, as per usual, but quickly shut it again as her words registered. _Had he ever played those games..? _An unfamiliar expression crossed his face, as memories of car-rides in his youth surfaced in his nimble mind_—sitting in the backseat alone, save the family's belongings that were occupying both other seats and half of his own…his father driving, his mother knitting, the dull murmur of talk radio mixing with the sound of the tired Buick engine…trying to speak and being abruptly cut off by the colonel…_ The gruff doctor shook his head quickly, snapping to just in time to catch the openly questioning glance from his immunologist.

"What?" he spat, with more acid than he intended. "So I've never played a few of your Mid-West bumpkin games that I'm sure were invented in Cowsville, Nowhere—For the record I've never gone cow-tipping or jumped out of a loft into manure, either."

And at that obviously defensive remark, Cameron jerks her eyes away from his face apologetically. Having grown up with brothers in the back of the family station wagon, she was now kicking herself for not having thought of the fact that obviously House hadn't had the same sibling experiences. _She just _had _to bring up some unpleasant bit of his past while trapped in the car, hadn't she?_ Feeling a tinge of guilt and desperate to make amends for the blunder…

"Platypus!"

If House had felt himself caught off-guard when she told him to stop tapping his cane on the window, it was _nothing _compared to the incredulity that crossed his face at this latest exclamation. Allowing his blank stare to linger on her features until he felt she had turned a sufficient shade of red, he took his time in responding.

"Oookay…" he began finally, as if talking to the mentally infirm—which, after _that_ interjection, he felt he might be. "She's gone completely bats." The diagnostician shook his head mournfully, before edging away and managing to appear uncomfortable. "Great—stuck in a tin can of a car with a delirious chipmunk-lover. Hey listen, if you still have control of your faculties, it'd be _great_ if you could hold off on singing 'Kumbaya'…"

Cameron rolled her eyes, wondering secretly if she _should _start singing just to make him more uncomfortable—_huh, it would serve him right._ However, realistically having no more desire to _sing_ "Kumbaya" than he had to _listen _to it, she settled for explaining her previous outburst.

"Noo, Greg," she began exasperatedly as one would do if speaking to a small child. "That's the game."

"As great as the game 'Platypus' _sounds_… I think maybe I'll pass—"

"Okay, 'Platypus' is not the _name _of the game, it's how you play—"

"Not sure I follow, and come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to any sort of game that has to do with web-footed billed-mammals. You know, I get all itchy and swollen and you unless you want to rub calamine lotion on my—"

"If you would _shut up_ for a second, I could explain that the game really doesn't have anything _to do _with web-footed billed-mammals!" Cameron finally shouted, having come to the end of her patience. Predictably, House smirked gloatingly at the fact that he had ruffled her at last.

"Uh oh, _Allison,_ don't tell me you're beginning to find me _annoying_..?!"

Recomposing herself, the young immunologist relaxed her grip on the wheel and had to let out a short, half-sigh/half-chuckle. _Point one for House_—_but she'd get him next time_. "_So_—in order to _play_ this game," she started loudly, effectively ignoring his comment. "I name an animal and you have name a different one that begins with the letter that my animal ends with."

"I think the appropriate response to _that _masterful explanation would be: _What_?"

"It's really not as complicated as it sounds—although I guess I could just give you an example…" Cameron thought briefly for a moment before continuing. "Alright, if we were playing and I said 'antelope,' you could say 'elephant' because antelope ends in 'E. Do you… get it?'"

Well, he had _gotten _it the first time around, so this time wasn't any more of a mystery. House considered feigning more confusion, you know, to keep up the _annoying _factor… but the truth of it was that this game actually sounded interesting enough to play along with. _Well no, not so much _interesting_ as a game he was pretty sure he would beat her mercilessly at. _Winning always _had_ held an undeniable allure for Gregory House, after all. So thinking, he nodded. "Yeah. So how do you win?"

"You win by getting the other person to miss— basically by taking too long to think of one, or repeating an animal that's been said, or…"

"Yeah yeah yeah, I get it—start already!" he flapped a hand at her impatiently, to which she stuck out her tongue.

"I already said Plat—"

"Good _God_ woman! Haven't I mentioned that I'm allergic to—!"

"HIPPOPOTAMUS, THEN!"

Allison Cameron and Gregory House paused for one long moment, each sizing the other up as surreptitiously as possible.

_She was completely insane for agreeing to this… _she thought.

_He was completely insane for agreeing to this… _he thought.

_Why couldn't he stop being an ass when she was trying so hard to do him a damn favor?!_

_Maybe he should stop being such an ass, since she was doing him a favor..? _

_Because he's… House. _She concluded uneasily.

_But he's… himself._ He concluded… _uneasily?_

The silence drew out like a knife, neither party aware at how close their thoughts actually came to mirroring the others. Finally, and perhaps surprisingly, it was he who snapped the tension.

"So… Hippopotamus ends in an 'S'," he affirmed, if a bit quietly, and it was difficult to tell who was more surprised at his sudden acquiescence. _Huh, it looked like the Grinch _did _have a heart—even if it _was _two sizes too small. Not the Grinch would admit it, nor was Cindy Lou stupid enough to call him out on it._ One more moment of held breath, and it seemed that the two doctors could understand each other, if only for a thin slice of time. "Steve McQueen."

"No, House—you can't use proper names," even as she spoke, Cameron released a sigh that was more therapeutic than she wanted to admit and rolled her eyes.

"First off… Speaking of proper names, there's a new rule for this ride: for every time you forget to call me 'Greg,' you owe me five bucks, and the same goes if I forget to call you 'Allison,'" the diagnostician challenged. "And secondly: do you even know what I'm talking about?"

"First off: you're on," she replied, her voice smooth and almost laughing, "and second: yes, you're talking about your pet rat—but you can't use his name. You'd have to say '_rat._'"

House hesitated for a moment, if only for a second—a feeling of slight surprise rising in his chest at the idea that she would remember such a thing. Part of him was secretly pleased, too, but he pushed it away gruffly, thinking negative thoughts on purpose to quell the unfamiliar, nice sensation. _The woman had a stupid girl crush on him, after all—probably had a whole diary full of notes on himself hidden under her bed._

Satisfied that the warm fuziness had fled back to where it belonged, "But 'rat' doesn't start with 'S," he pointed out and she shook her head in a defeated manner. _If she keeps doing that, her pretty head is going to roll right off her shoulders_, he thought. "Alright, alright—Sail-finned Scorpionfish."

With a snort, Cameron glanced over at her volatile passenger before returning hazel eyes to the road. _Of all the times she had played with her brothers, 'sail-finned scorpionfish' had never come up… But somehow, she never doubted that such a thing existed. Jeez—playing with House would certainly be a change of pace!_ "Well… I was expecting 'snake,' or 'swan'… but okay. 'H' it is. Um…. House."

"What? And you owe me five bucks!"

"No I don't—that's my animal. You've got 'E'."

"Oh, very funny, Allison," House scoffed with a roll of his eyes, "but you said no proper names!"

Laughing at his snarky indignation, and even more so at the fact that he's already getting competitive, the female doctor offered him a cheeky wink and a one-armed shrug. "Well if you're gonna _whine _about it… Hawk."

"Cuddy."

"_Cuddy_ doesn't start with '_K,_' and I'm going to remind you, possibly in vain, that our boss is _not _an ani—"

"I respectfully beg to differ. You'd be singing a different tune if she made a habit of dragging _you_ into her office for afternoon delight—"

"STOP!" she yelled, predictably, but this time the banter was almost comfortable. Almost. House smirked and propped his foot back up on the glovebox, and Cameron didn't bother mentioning the mud on his sneaker. _Almost comfortable. Almost._

After a beat, he replied, "Komodo dragon."

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"Shit… '_E_'… Umm…"

"C'mon Allison—I'm about to declare myself the winner!"

"No way, Greg— you had _way_ more time than that to come up with '_Scarlet Ibis,_'which I'm not even sure you didn't _make up_!" Cameron protested teasingly, despite the fact that she, for some strange reason, trusted him implicitly not to cheat at this game. They had been playing the same animal name game for the past two hours, and now it was taking longer and longer to come up with original animals that began with common letters. _Why did _every_ animal end with the letter 'E'..?_

"I did _not_ make it up," he retorted with a haughty air. "and fine, you can have _five_ more seconds: one… _two_…"

"Stop counting!" she yelped, voice rising with laughter. "Hang on, wait—_Egret!_"

"The huge, white, crane thing?"

"Yep."

"Ooh, good one."

Cameron looked over at House, who was already unconsciously poking his tongue out in concentration as he thought, and a grin threatened to over-take her face. _He was being sort of… nice. He probably didn't realize it, but he had just paid her a compliment and was being… well… nice._

She was right—House hadn't even registered that a kind word had slipped past his normally guarded persona. Frankly, he was too busy racking his nimble mind for an animal that began with 'T.' "Teh—tahh—too—Tyyy…" he tried, jabbing her in the arm as she giggled at his antics. "Oh I got one: _Tiger salamander_!"

"Damnit!" she cursed as he pumped a fist in the air happily. "Another 'R'..? Wait—we haven't used _rhinoceros _yet!"

"Are you sure about that?" the tall diagnostician needled, getting a returned jab as a response. He half-chuckled, in spite of himself. "Alright, then I'll go with 'Sail-finned scorpionfish.'"

Just then, the easy atmosphere within the car was shattered with something akin to a shriek.

"YOU ALREADY SAID THAT ONE!" Cameron yelled triumphantly, causing the man a mere two feet away to nearly jump out of his skin.

"W-what—? I—no I didn't!" he tried to protest immediately, but she was not to be quieted.

"SAIL-FINNED SCORPION FISH! YOU SAID IT AT THE VERY BEGINNING! I WIN!"

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"Greeeg, stop sulking, would you, please?" the pretty, young immunologist wheedled, only to be confronted by a shoulder as her companion continued to stare moodily out the window.

"I'm not sulking," he sulked, just as he had been for the past twenty minutes. _Gregory House did not lose well_.

"Sure you're not," Cameron sighed, more to herself than to him. Regrouping, and fully expecting to be fended off again, she pressed him again, "C'mon, don't be such a sore loser—" she cut herself off as he cringed, also cringing as she realized that maybe _loser_ wasn't the best word choice for her proud passenger. "I mean… it was just a stupid game. I probably cheated. How about that?"

"You didn't cheat. How can you cheat at a game about animals?" he groused, voice tinged with petulance as he still refused to tear his gaze from the gray highway outside the car.

"Fair enough. Alright, have it your way: I didn't cheat," she agreed with a shrug, twisting around in her seat in attempt to restore blood flow to her left leg. The tingling was uncomfortable—_she felt like getting out and walking around somewhere_. That thought gave her an idea, and as fate would have it, it was also at that moment that her eyes alit on a sign heralding a rest area only a few miles up the road. "Well then how's this: if you buy me a frosty at Wendy's when we stop… I won't tell anyone that I beat you at naming animals."

It was too good of a deal for House's pride to pass up, and they both knew it. He wanted to make some sort of comment about a frosty ruining her possibly bulimic diet, but his heart wasn't in it after the abuse his ego had taken. Finally, all it took was a reluctant nod from him, and they were slowing down for the next exit. As the car pulled off of the freeway, the gruff doctor seemed to brighten just a bit, and he looked over at the driver.

"You know, there's really no shame in losing to _you_, now that I think of it."

"And why would that be?"

"Because everyone knows that you're a fan of _all things_ great and small... and therefore you pretty much corner the field on animal knowledge. You're a mammal-lover."

Cameron knew this was more of an insult than a compliment, but still... she thought for a moment, before a smile crept across her features. "Yes, I am."

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"Wow, Cameron… all of those comments about you having anorexia were jokes—I had no idea you were actually _starving _yourself!" House taunted, vaguely amused as he watched the young woman sitting next to him slurp up that chocolate shake like it was going out of style.

Instead of answering, she merely smiled cheerily at him and continued consuming the soft ice cream. "You owe me five bucks, _Greg_."

_Crap._ He thought, wrinkling his nose at the obvious blunder and returning his own attention to his large container of fries. The pair ate in companionable silence for a moment, before a pair of blue eyes returned to the face of his immunologist. He snorted at the sight.

"What?" she asked upon hearing the derisive noise.

"Nothing."

"No… what?" Cameron pressed, eager to know what she had done to catch his attention.

"Well…" he smirked, "were you planning on saving some of that for later?"

Blushing a bit at the obvious mention of having something on her face, she immediately brought a napkin to her mouth to wipe away any offending smudges. She missed the area entirely. "Is it gone?"

"No."

More wiping. "How about now?"

"Nope, still there."

This time, Cameron wiped her entire face thoroughly… except for the one tiny spot at the corner of her mouth that was smeared with chocolate.

"Oh for the _love_ of _God—_c'mere!" and with that, the tall diagnostician leaned across the center console and relieved her of the napkin before using the other hand to hold her face steady whilst he rubbed at the offending smudge.

With her jaw cupped firmly in his hand and her face not six inches from his, Cameron froze, her eyes wide.

"There, see? Was _that_ so hard?" House mocked her, before suddenly realizing just what he had done. They were firmly in each other's personal space, and he was still holding a hand to her cheek. _How had _that_ happened? And more importantly… what to do with this new situation?_

"Um… H-house..?" she ventured carefully, face still unsure, and suddenly he knew what to do. Knew how to bring things back into familiar territory.

"Two updates: I no longer owe you five bucks; and I've got a new idea for a bet," he grinned, leaning away from her once more.

"What's that?" Cameron asked, despite the fact that all survival instincts told her that she probably didn't want to know.

"Well… since we obviously need a little practice being… shall we say, '_couple-ish_'," placing a hand on her knee caused her to jump, and if possible, the older doctor's Cheshire grin stretched wider. Long pianist's fingers walked their way from knee to thigh, before being trapped by another, more delicate hand.

"HOUSE!"

"Now _you_ owe _me _five bucks for the name… and the bet is that you owe me twenty dollars for every time you flinch when I get too close."

Cameron glanced down at the way she had pinned House's wandering hand, and then let her eyes slowly drag back up to his face. She traced her gaze over his rumpled "Who" shirt and let it flit across his scruffy features before finally meeting his challenging sapphire stare. _He was smug, _she knew. _He didn't think she was up to it_.

"So, Allison," he drawled, the swagger in his voice just as apparent as the swagger in his gait ever was. "Are you in?"

One moment she was gazing up at him with uncertainty in those doe eyes, and the next— House jerked back and made a strangled noise of surprise as the lips of his pretty underling met his own in a fleeting, yet undeniably sure kiss. _And she was leaning closer—?!_ A petite hand was suddenly behind his head and those same dainty lips came within a hairsbreadth of his ear, soft breath making him shiver with nowhere to pull away to.

"Gregory House, you owe me _fifteen_ _dollars_."


	13. Broken Connections

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** I'm just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world… and I don't own HouseMD

**Author's Note: **So Hector, this is awkward… Haven't spoken to you in two months. How dare I even deign to show my face around these parts again?! Well, simply put, it was the urge to keep on writing this story, plus the fact that you seemed overwhelmingly supportive of that plan. If you're still out there, accept my humble apologies for taking so long with an update. New job; you know how it goes. Not all of us can deal addictive substances. So without further ado, the story! One promise: family and compromising sleeping arrangements in chapter fourteen.

**Chapter Dedication: **humongo and ginormous props to the one and only Oracle Phoenix, who has become my faithful beta reader! THREE CHEERS FOR PHOENIX!

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

Allison Cameron stiffened reflexively at the sensation of cool fingertips alighting on the exposed skin of her lower back, but immediately forced herself to relax.

_Don't flinch, don't flinch, don't flinch_… She instructed her muscles firmly, but this was fast becoming a tall order as those questing digits began to walk lazily southward. Staring vehemently at the sneaker she had been re-tying, Cameron had to consciously remind herself to breathe.

Greg House, owner of the hand in question, smirked as his fingers continued their waltz. _He had her again!_

Some ten minutes ago, that being the ignition point that lead to the current situation, Cameron had decided that she had to stop for a bathroom break. House, being House, had called attention to similarities between his immunologist and a puppy, and complained that she should just wait out the last hour of driving._—"Has anyone ever mentioned that many of your most defining traits are comparable to those of a cocker spaniel?"—_Despite all of that; here they were outside some sleazy fast-food restaurant with even sleazier patrons milling around.

_Still_, House thought with a grin. _The unwanted break had certainly handed him a golden opportunity…_

After using the bathroom, the younger doctor had been walking back to the car when she noticed a dragging shoelace. Typically, she had set one sneakered foot atop the nearest picnic bench and bent to remedy the problem. _That had been her big mistake_. Some moments later, a certain grouchy diagnostician had poked his head out of the car to shout at his traveling companion_---"What could possibly be taking so long?! Have you got some sloth genes mixed in with those lap-dog bloodlines?"—_but the jab had suddenly died on his lips as he caught sight of the woman in question... with her back to him, hunched over, ass in the air. _Oh, it was just too good._

_Oh God oh God oh God…_ She thought incomprehensibly, trying desperately to discern a way out of the current situation without further indebting herself to her employer—he had already caught her out twice: once with a wet kiss on the back of her neck as she leaned to dig through the glove compartment for a roadmap, and again with an unexpected wandering hand that had alighted on her upper thigh as she drove. They had nearly crashed into the concrete highway divider. _Damn, did she really already owe that infuriating man twenty-five dollars?!_

"You ready to go, Allison?" House's voice broke through her whirling thoughts, and the tone was aggravatingly, sing-song-ingly innocent. _That fake._ Even as he spoke, graceful digits did a pirouette along her spine. _Oh God, indeed._

"Allisonnnn," he wheedled again, the smirk in his voice evident. "Something wrong, sweeeeetheart?" The diagnostician was fully enjoying the fact that he seemed to be able to play her like a fiddle. He resisted humming "New York, New York" as he let his fingers dance the Can-Can towards the low-riding waist of her jeans. _He totally had her again. Make that forty-five dollars for G. Hou— _"OOF!"

One pair of electric blue eyes shot open in surprise and pain as one sharp elbow arguably displaced one unsuspecting kidney.

"So, you ready to get this show on the road?" The question came innocently as the woman before him straightened and readjusted her shirt. The smirk that accompanied it, however, was anything but.

In his current state of sudden agony, House considered himself many things—but 'ready to get this show on the road' was _not_ among them. His upright stance now reduced to leaning heavily on the picnic table with the other hand clutching pathetically at his offended side, the sound that came out of his mouth next wasn't so much of sharp retort as a pained mumble. "Y-you... you..."

"What? Didn't catch that," Cameron replied cheerily as she began walking back towards the car. "C'mon, Greg, Beantown's still an hour off!"

Still grimacing, the gruff older doctor sent a long, meaningful glare at the receding back of his surprise attacker before finally consenting to follow her towards the parking lot. _Well _that_ plan had certainly backfired—one minute he's enjoying a comfy position of power, and the next he's being assaulted by the more knobby bits of his immunologist! _He muttered darkly to himself all the while. _Well, at least there was the consolation prize of another twenty bucks... Her unpredictability would come at a price_.

By the time House reached the car where she was waiting, Cameron was once again stooped down—finally retying the sneaker she had originally set out to. This time, however, she had made quite certain that her shirt wasn't riding up, and that she hadn't left herself in an obscenely vulnerable position. Even so, he watched her crouched form for a moment longer than absolutely necessary before speaking.

"You're digging yourself quite the hole there, Allison," he began with as much of a sneer as he could muster while still favoring his left side. _Damn, that girl had a vicious right hook, for a pipsqueak!_

She startled a bit at his words, but merely shot him a mildly questioning look as she got to her feet. Reaching up to grab her bottle of water from where she had set it on the roof of the car while opening the door, Cameron hazarded a glance in his direction as he sidled up. Observant of his expression as always, it was all she could do to keep the rising feeling of concern from showing in her own face as she noticed his apparent discomfort. "I'm what? Digging..?"

"Debt. You're officially up to forty-five in the big book of I.O.U.s."

The smirk that crept across her face wasn't exactly the first response he had been expecting. Neither was her simultaneous response. "How do you figure?"

One of House's eyebrows rose sharply at the seemingly inane question, and his words followed suit. "Uh... Have you been having an out of body experience for the last five minutes?" he asked slowly.

Cameron's returning expression was devious and totally guiltless. "No. Why do you ask?"

He had to offer up a crooked half-smile, even as he rolled his eyes. _God, she was annoying!_ "Well..." he drawled. "I seem to have a rather distinct memory of a little PDA going irrevocably—"

"If by 'a little PDA' you mean '_flagrant molestation_', then yeah, I think I was there for that," she interjected with a challenging eyebrow raise of her own. _What a jerk!_ Was her first thought, but it was, nonetheless, punctuated with an internal chuckle.

For his part, House snorted, but otherwise chose to ignore the interruption, continuing on with a dismissive wave of his hand. "_So as I was saying—"_

"Right. Do continue."

"Well I _would_ if you would stop _interr_—"

"Sorry. Go on."

"I'm tryi—"

"I'll just be quiet, then."

At the fourth interruption, a bit of color rose into the diagnostician's cheeks, and he visibly stiffened. Opening his mouth as if to yell, Cameron held her breath for a moment before being surprised as a gruff laugh substituted for what she thought would be a sharp comment.

_She's... not bad._ He decided, squinting one eye at her in appraisal as he attempted to stare down his pretty underling. _Insufferable, maybe... but not too bad. _

The young immunologist stood her ground under his scrutiny and grinned back defiantly, doing her own bit by looking him up and down. _Maybe it was the warm glow of the late afternoon sun that was softening him... _She thought with no small amount of growing contentment. _But for the first time since she could remember, Dr. Gregory House, even while doing his level best to loom over her, didn't seem as intimidating as he once did. _

To passersby, the pair of them looked both ordinary and ridiculous at the same time—a mismatched pair even in their heights, engaged in some sort of staring contest in the parking lot of a highway-side Dunkin' Donuts. To passersby, those who did not know of their impossibly dichotomous personalities, they could have been anything— relatives, or lovers. Friends, or enemies. But that was just to random passersby.

Standing on asphalt somewhere in Rhode Island, hands on respective hips, two doctors from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital locked eyes, exchanged small, quirky smiles, and understood one another just a little bit better.

Gregory House inclined his head towards the driver's side of the car, and Allison Cameron nodded a thankful assent, passing over the keys. They climbed into the vehicle without further conversation, and if there had been any random passerby, they would have been left none the wiser.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"Allison."

"Mmph. Hmm? What?"

"You're not falling asleep on me, right? What are you, five?"

Cameron stifled a yawn and straightened from her slump against the door.To answer his question, yes, she had been falling asleep. "No, I was just… Looking for something in the side-door pocket." A skeptical look was the reply. "For a CD. It's too quiet in here," she clarified, but from the expression on his face, he wasn't convinced.

"Well, I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that one doesn't go about _looking for something _with her eyes shut," House explained with a shrug, before removing one hand from the steering wheel to slap it dramatically to his forehead. "OH WAIT! I _am_ a doctor!"

"Oh shut up, Greg House," the immunologist grumbled, twisting in her seat to readjust her spine after slouching like that. _Ouch. Double ouch._ "Why do you care, anyway?"

He seemed to contemplate that for a moment, as if he needed a minute to remember why he had spoken her name, before answering. "Mostly because we're going to be there in a half-hour and I don't want you to be all groggy and embarrassing in front of the fancy hotel people… but also because I wanted to re-inform you of your impending debt to me. You know, if you wanted to substitute sexual acts for monetary compensation, I wouldn't be adverse to that payment plan— although, I should warn you: the exchange rate is rather in _my _favor—"

"Hold up and rewind," she cut him off, her head spinning with this latest diatribe that had somehow gone from the subject of hotel staff to sex.

"To which part?"

"How about the part where I understand what the Hell you're talking about?" she suggested wryly, and received an indulgent grin.

"You owe me a lump-sum of forty-five bucks, Lovey. I was just suggesting the fact that you may be running low on cash, and considerately offering you another method of repaying that debt."

"Right… Well, I think, Lord help me for being able to follow your thought process, I sort of understood that part," Cameron admitted, before continuing through his evil laughter and proclamations of '_I've got her now!_' punctuated by melodramatic hand-rubbing. "The part I'm still hazy on is how you got to the number forty-five. Last I checked, it was twenty-five."

"That was before you possibly…_probably _ruptured my left kidney with that spiky excuse for an elbow." Turning his eyes back to the road after a meaningful glance, House tapped his fingers idly against the steering wheel. "Please don't tell me you forgot the rules of the wager— I went for PDA, and you went for the jugular. You owe me another Andrew Jackson."

"Hah! _Sweetheart_, what have I told you about confusing 'harassment' with 'affection'..?" the female doctor exclaimed sarcastically, before doing her own bit of explaining. "And hey, don't tell me _you _forgot the rules!"

"What are you talking about..?" the diagnostician asked somewhat warily. _Uh-oh… she definitely had that annoying, knowing look about her…_

"Well, the bet was to remedy the fact that we don't behave like a convincing couple.

"Yeah. So?"

"_So_… the parking lot scenario included you violating me, and me putting you in your place for it. Here's the kicker: I challenge you to find _anyone_ who knows you that wouldn't expect even your _girlfriend _to belt you one for that kind of move. In fact, I'm pretty sure they'd applaud." Having finished making her point, Cameron grinned smugly, waiting for his response. _She was right, and she knew it_.

"I—You—" he stuttered after it all sank in, but realized in the same moment that, crap, she _was_ right. _A loophole. Damn her._

"You—I—_ what_?" she teased his graceless retort.

"You suck." _Well it wasn't exactly a _good _comeback_, _but it was all he had. _

"I've told you a million times… Not anymore! I only did that for a few years to pay my way through Med School, and you know it!"

House glanced over at her, surprised by the quip, before snorting and shaking his head. "You _do _know that you'll be hearing about _that one _for the next twenty-some-odd years, right?"

Pausing, Cameron dropped her gaze to her lap before nodding somewhat mournfully in agreement. "…Yep."

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

"So Cam, you know what…" he began, only to trail off upon glancing over to confirm that the woman he was addressing was curled up against the window, fast asleep. Emboldened by the simple fact that she couldn't hear it, House allowed himself a soft chuckle and a shake of the head. _Huh, looking for CDs indeed_—_in fact, was that..? _The short jag of laughter grew in volume as the diagnostician realized that Allison Cameron was, in all of her slumbering glory, drooling.

Cameron shifted a bit at the noise, and he quickly stifled the outburst to prevent her from waking up fully. The truth was, he sort of had to admit, however reluctantly, that when she wasn't concerned with how he was viewing her, she was… cute. Oh, he had always found her attractive—_what red-blooded male in his right mind wouldn't?—_but this was something completely different. This was _cute_. The kind of cute you'd think would look just as appealing wearing flannel pants as they would wearing low-rider jeans. The kind of cute you wanted to kiss on the forehead sometimes, instead of on the mouth. The kind of cute you could wake up next to, even if it did include a bit of saliva on the pillowcase.

With one hand draped over the wheel at the wrist and his mind wandering, the gruff diagnostician didn't realize the course his thoughts were taking until it was too late. _Oh shit. There was a _reason_ he avoided thinking things like that! _Swallowing hard and force-focusing back on the skyline of Boston rising up to meet them, he turned his thoughts to the weekend ahead.

Nearby, Cameron snuffled gently in her sleep and the seat squeaked as she hunkered down further. House sighed, a noise softer than both of the others. _This could get… complicated_.

**...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...**

_Mmm...wha—?_ Hazel eyes fluttered open, gradually revealing a close-up vantage point of smudged window glass. Blinking in sleepy confusion, Cameron's first thought was to her current location. _Where the Hell..? Oh yeah. The car, apparently stuck in Boston traffic by now. Wait… what was—? _Immediately following that idea was one that questioned what it was that had awoken her.

"_Few times I been around that track, so it ain't just gonna happen like that…"_

Twisting in her seat to view the source of a gravelly baritone mixed with a punk-pop alto, the pretty, young immunologist immediately began to snicker. _Apparently, _she thought to herself with no small amount of amusement, _Gregory House 'wasn't no holla back girl'._

"Somehow, I get this feeling that the next thing you're going to tell me is that 'the shit is bananas.'"

House, startled from his absent sing-along, immediately shot his now very awake companion a somewhat sheepish glance. "Oh. You're awake," he mumbled dully, quickly flicking the power knob on the stereo to kill the music.

"Yeah—apparently _someone_ saw fit to interrupt my nap with some impromptu teeny-bopper karaoke," she teased, reaching across the center console to nudge him playfully. "Wonder who that could have been…"

"Shut up. There wasn't anything on the radio."

"And the fact that you seem to know all of Gwen's lyrics… Just a coincidence?"

"Yeah, well, you drool in your sleep. So there," he shot back with a smirk at her suddenly mortified expression. A hand went to her mouth, and upon finding a trace of moisture on her chin, Cameron's cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. "Oh yeah. I'm pretty sure me and Gwen have _nothing_ on you and Jerry Lewis."

"Shut up, I—"

The playful banter was cut short by the shrill ringing of a cell-phone. Both doctors glanced towards House's backpack, from which the noise was emanating, before Cameron unceremoniously scooped it up and began to unzip the front pocket. The diagnostician eyed her rummaging with mild interest for a second before clearing his throat.

"What're you doing, Allison?" _The first names came easier now_.

"Trying to find your damn phone—what did you pack in here, rocks?" she groaned, lugging the knapsack fully into her lap.

"Just the essentials," he waved airily, "and _why_ are you trying to find my phone?"

Cameron paused in her search for a moment to fix him with a bit of an incredulous stare. "So you can answer it…?"

The ringing continued, seemingly louder as if to prove her point, but House still made no indication that he cared. Just the opposite, in fact.

"What makes you think I was planning on doing something like that?" Her only reply was a continued stare, so he smirked and began his explanation. "Listen, there's only three people who could be on the other end of that annoying ring-tone: Wilson, my cousin, Linz, or Cuddy. Option A: if it's Jimmy, I don't really feel like dealing with his ridiculous questions along the lines of 'have I scarred you beyond repair, yet?'; Behind door number two, we have Linz, whom I usually don't avoid talking to, but in light of the fact that the last time we spoke I dropped the G-bomb—" A mouth opened as if to ask what that might be. "—_Girlfriend_—she's probably going to have that same annoying inquisitive quality out on parade, too."

House paused here for a moment, drawing a breath, much to Cameron's amusement. "And _last, _but certainly not _least_,option number three is our delightful Dean of Medicine, Dr. Lisa Cuddy. Two words: Hell. No."

By the time his explanation had run its course, it didn't seem to matter anyway—the phone had long since stopped ringing. Suddenly replacing that noise, however, was the sound of snickering. It started unobtrusively enough, but began to grow until soon enough the chuckles had become full-fledged, gut-busting laughter. The diagnostician, now guiding the car slowly through the packed streets of Beantown, could only spare his hysterical companion a somewhat baffled glance. _What the Hell..?_

Allison Cameron was, by no exaggeration, laughing her ass off. Tears forming at the corners of her eyes as she was racked with quaking hilarity, the immunologist could do nothing to stop herself. _The whole situation was just completely ridiculous—riding in a car with misanthropic genius, Gregory House, on the way to a wedding where she would be posing as his girlfriend and he would collect money..? What exactly did they think they were doing?! _

Despite initially viewing her with a certain amount of skepticism, House couldn't seem to stop the smile that had begun creeping over his own features. Maybe it was because he was realizing that he hadn't actually ever heard her laugh before, or at least not like this, and it was kind of nice. Contagious, at the very least.

He was hyper-observant—that much most people could agree on—and now, he was noticing the tiny crease that formed between her eyes, and the way she tilted her head back slightly so that she was laughing at the ceiling. Hazel eyes shut, lashes dark against pale cheeks—it was only the beginning of the summer, after all—and lips parted in a slightly ludicrous grin. Pretty soon, if only to ignore the other warm feeling in his chest, House was chuckling too.

"Haha—ohh… owwowow—haha s-stop—my ribs are k-killing m-me…" she gasped through her laughter, and the fact that she was even trying to talk just heightened the hilarity. Luckily, it was at that point that another phone began to ring. "Damn—oww—w-wait—!"

Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, Cameron wiped the tears from her face before pulling out her phone and glancing at the display. "It's… Wilson," she confirmed, and House, still trying to wipe the smile off of his own face, nodded knowingly.

"Figures he'd run to you next. Just ignore—"

"Hello? Oh, hi Dr. Wilson."

Blue eyes blinked in surprise as the diagnostician came to the slow realization that she had gone and answered the phone. _Wait, hadn't he just made a very good argument as to why they _shouldn't_ take the call..?_ Coming to, a short sound of dismay left House's mouth as he tried to snatch the phone from her.

Despite his efforts, however, Cameron merely leant away from her companion to keep the device out of his reach. "Cut it out and drive!" she laughed, before realizing that she was speaking directly into the phone. "Oh, oh no, not you, Dr. Wilson—Sorry."

"What're you, nuts..?" House mouthed in an exaggerated fashion, rolling his eyes when she merely responded with a wink and a smirk before going back to her conversation. "No, actually it wasn't off—yeah, he heard it ringing... Guess he just didn't want to talk to you—something about you nagging—Excuse me? Oh, oh yeah, I'm still alive, obviously—Barely, uh-huh…" The diagnostician strained to hear what Wilson was saying for the first bit of conversation, but after only narrowly avoiding the second elbow jab of the day as he leaned closer to his companion, he resigned himself to the compromise of not knowing what was being said, but keeping his person from sustaining further bodily harm. Meanwhile, Cameron seemed to be enjoying her chat with Wilson—or at least, she had a smile on her face as she fielded his questions.

On the other end of the line, James Wilson leant back in his chair and clicked his pen absently as he settled the phone into the crook between ear and shoulder. _It figured that House wouldn't answer his phone—although surprising that now Cameron was answering hers. It begged the question of why he hadn't stopped her..?_

"So," he began, still wondering at the obviously jovial tone the young woman was using—_she couldn't possibly be having a good time… she'd been stuck in a car with Gregory House for the past four hours! _"Now that I know you haven't been spit-roasted, or at the very least left on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike… How are you and our favorite way-faring misanthrope doing?"

"Oh, we're good—you know, a few pit-stops and some definite whining binges, but other than that it's been fine."

"And when you say 'fine'… you mean not including screaming, bleeding, or other such things usually associated with slasher movies?"

Stopped at a red light, House allowed himself to look over at his passenger—and was gratified, if a bit surprised, to find her rolling her eyes.

"Yes, that's usually what's meant by the word 'fine'… No, seriously, it's been okay—well, why not? Sure, I know that he's _House_, but—" Allison Cameron, it seemed, was getting a first-hand example as to exactly why James Wilson's calls were typically ignored by one Greg House. The diagnostician smirked.

"Told you so… Annoying, isn't he?" he gloated for a moment, before noticing that the traffic signal had changed to green. More than that, he could see their hotel—the Fairmount Copley Plaza—just a few blocks ahead.

Meanwhile, the immunologist continued her now futile attempts to convince Wilson that she wasn't in harm's way. _Funny—she had thought House was Wilson's best friend! _"Listen, Dr. Wilson, it's really fine, and to tell you the truth we're just about—SHIT! HOUSE—!"

Just as he had moved his foot to the gas pedal, a driver in a silver BMW had seen fit to swerve in front of them. Alerted by Cameron's sharp shout, House had slammed on the brake just in time to avoid rear-ending the asshole. _Fucking Bostonians!_ He thought heatedly, and was about to let out a long strip of curses to vent—

"WATCH IT, ASSHOLE!" Cameron beat him to it; yelling angrily as she reached across the center console and punched the horn sharply. Taking a breath to calm herself, she shook her head in reproach. "Fucking Bostonians."

House just stared—keeping one eye on the road, of course—at his immunologist in shock. _Of all the people he would expect to display a bit of road rage... Well, it didn't really need to be said that Dr. Care-Bear wasn't at the top of that list_. _Then again…_ he mused. _It seemed like he had spent a large portion of the afternoon considering 'lists that Allison Cameron shouldn't have been at the top of'… but was._ _Maybe he simply didn't have her so figured out, after all_…

Cameron, however, was only just remembering that she still had Wilson on the phone—and that she had sworn very loudly directly down his eardrum. "Dr. Wilson? Oh, oh I'm really sorry—there was an ass—I mean, some guy who cut us off… No, we're fine. Yes. Actually, we're just now arriving—hm?" The car pulled smoothly up to the curb in front of their destination. "The name of the hotel? Oh it's um…" she glanced up at the elaborate signage above them. "The Sheraton Boston."

The diagnostician gaped. _They were most certainly _not_ at a Sheraton—and she had just looked straight at the words "Fairmount Copley Plaza"!_

"—Right, so we're going to get checked in—oh, you want to talk to him..?" _The frantic 'No, no, absolutely not's being mouthed weren't exactly subtle._ "Sure, he's right here, I'll just—Oh—Wa—Tunnel—I'm Lo—sing—Y—Ilson? Doc—Bad—Co—tion—!" Cameron exclaimed brokenly, before simply shutting the phone.

If he had been gaping before, well, now he was _double-gaping_. She blinked innocently at him. "What? You were right; he wouldn't stop with the stupid questions…"

"Allison Cameron…"

"Yes?"

"Did you just fake a broken connection so you could hang up the phone on Wilson." It was really more of a statement than a question.

"…Yes."

"And did you deliberately lie to him about which hotel we would be staying at."

"I figured it'd just be one more place he'd call—"

"A simple 'yes' or 'no.'"

"Then… Okay. Yes." House didn't speak again immediately, and Cameron found herself stealing a glance at him. _Was there actually a problem..? She had just done exactly what _he_ would have, she was sure of it!_

As they sat there, a young man dressed in a traditional red doorman uniform approached the car and opened the driver's side door with a flourish. "Welcome to the Fairmount Copley Plaza, sir, may I take your car for valet?"

House nodded, climbing a bit awkwardly from his seat and standing. Grimacing at the way his leg was aching after being confined for the afternoon, he discreetly popped a few Vicodin as Cameron rounded the vehicle to stand beside him. She handed him his cane without speaking.

"A bellhop will be out straight away to collect your luggage, and we do hope you will enjoy your stay with us."

Wordlessly tipping the probably college-aged boy who was smiling a bit too widely, the diagnostician waited one more moment before turning to his companion. "So… About that stuff you said to Wilson…"

_Oh no. Here it comes…_ she thought, bracing for one of his renowned displays of displeasure. Against all odds, however, it was a crooked smile that graced his scruffy face, rather than a scowl.

"…You're learning, Al. You're learning."


End file.
